J 


GLENWOOD; 


OR, 


THE     PARISH     FARM 


"0,  but  man,  proud  man  I 
in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assured, 
His  glassy  essence,  like  an  angry  ape, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  Heaven 
As  make  the  angels  weep." 


BY  WILLIAM  G.   CAMBRIDGE. 


BOSTON: 
HIQOINS       &       BRADL  E  Y , 

•      20  WASHINGTON   STREET. 
1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

SHEPAKD,    CLARK    AND     CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


HOBART    4    BOBBINS, 
r  HMUXD  rm  AXD  mmwrm  mnron, 
BOSTON. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
Glenwood. —  The  Gregga, 9 

CHAPTER    II. 

Joseph  Gregg,  Esq. —  Polly  Haggett, 17 

CHAPTER    III. 

Jimmey  Penly. —  The   Unkind  Father.  —  Stolen  Interviews. — Fatal   Disas- 
ter,        .30 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Cautious   Whisperings. —  Glonwood   Charitable   Society. —  The   Sinning  One 
driven  from  Home. —  The  Storm, 40 

CHAPTER    V. 

Tho  Fallen  not  to  be  Forgiven. —  How  Secrets  are  kept. —  Ghosts  and  Gob- 
lins.—  The  Haunted  House. —  The  Broken-hearted  Outcast, 53 

CHAPTER    VI. 

Deacon  Glubbings  and  Wife. —  Selling  the  Support  of  Paupers. —  Polly  Hag- 
gett still  seeking  for  the  Prize, 65 


2063520 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

The  Wanderer. —  Lodging  in  a  Barn. —  The  Little  Wymans. —  Delicious  Re- 
past,   73 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

Lost  in  the  Woods.— Finds  Shelter.— Moll  Hadley.—  Robbery.— A  Night  of 
Horror. —  The  Kind-hearted  Children  again. —  Their  Home. —  The  Outcast 
is  welcomed, 82 

CHAPTER    IX. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyman. —  Sickness. —  Darkest  before  the  Day. —  New  House- 
hold Treasure. —  Short-lived  Joy. —  The  Gathered  Bud  given  to  Stran- 
gers,  105 

CHAPTER    X. 

The  Cunards  move  to  the  West. —  Ill-fortune. —  Return. —  Willie  Cunard. — 
Death. —  Willie  a  Pauper. —  Glenwood  buys  a  Poor-Farm, 115 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Illusions  of  the  Invalid. —  Morning  has  come. —  Pleasures  and  Duties  of  a 
good  Home. —  Sickness  and  Death  at  the  Cottage, 123 

CHAPTER    XII. 

The  Bumpus  Family. —  Complaints  of  the  Paupers. —  Mr.  Gregg  visits  the 
Alms-house. —  Mrs.  Gunimede. —  Willie's  Troubles, 136 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

Mr.  Zebulon  Bugbee  makes  his  Maiden  Speech  in  Glenwood. —  Betsey  Slusher 
left  a  Widow. —  Loss  of  Property  and  Marriage  of  Mr.  Gregg. —  Polly  Hag- 
gett  in  Despair. —  Gets  better, 1 50 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

Good-natured  Conversation. —  A  New  Way  of  Smiling. —  Mr.  Gregg  apjointed 
Poor-master.  —  Bugbee  purchases  Tea  for  Mrs.  Gunimede.  —  Censures  the 
Town  for  Meanness, 159 

CHAPTER    XV. 

Sending  to  a  Clergyman  for  Brandy. —  Hector's  Appetite. —  Coat  of  many  Col- 
ors.—  Speech  on  the  Tariff. —  In  Love  with  Arabella  Mehitable. —  A  New 
Kind  of  Check. —  Laughable  Joke, 169 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

The  Poor-house  Boy. —  The  New  School-teacher. —  Her  Experience  with  Willie. 

—  The  Triumph  of  Goodness, 178 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

Poor-house  Fare. —  Jeannie's  Boarding-mistress  puzzled. —  An  Affecting  Story. 

—  Its  Results.— Plan  for  Escape, 196 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Hidden  Treasure  Discovered.  —  Punishment  of  the  Suspected  Culprit. — Wil- 
lie's Escape. —  Wanderings. —  Is  cared  for  by  Strangers, 207 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

The  Kindness  of  the  Penlys.— Willie  in  a  New  Suit.— Goes  to  Yamford—  Hia 
Reception  by  the  Wymans, 222 

CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Surprise  of  Mr.  Gregg. —  Mrs.  Betsey  in  a  Passion. —  Fruitless  Search  for 
the  Culprit. —  Talk  and  Feelings  of  the  People. —  A  Steeple-chase  not  after 
the  Usual  Style. —  Hector  runs  away. —  Is  brought  back. —  Mr.  Gregg  not 
Happy. —  Remorse. —  Hector  in  Search  of  a  Wife,  239 

1* 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

Ill-fortune  of  the  Pendwicks  and  Bumfords. — A  Farce,  in  which  a  Deacon  plays 
the  Principal  Character, 252 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

Happier  Days  for  Willie. —  A  New  Sorrow. —  Return  of  Mr.  Volens. —  The 
Desired  Information  obtained, 271 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Willie  is  told  who  were  his  Parents. —  Visits  his  Mother's  Grave. —  Beauty  of 
True  Piety.—  Death  of  the  Good, 279 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Visit  of  the  Lunds. —  Willie's  Thoughts  in  Relation  to  Jeannie. —  Betrothal. — 
Marriage. —  The  Grief  of  Willie. —  Mysterious  Disappearance. —  Jeannie's 
Wedding. —  New  Sources  of  Happiness, 286 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

Why  Willie  left  so  Mysteriously. —  His  Journey. —  Finds  a  Home  with  the 
Penlys, 294 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

Reconciliation. —  Writes  to  the  Wymans. —  Improvements  on  the  Farm. —  New 
Business, 303 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

Mrs.  Luni  in  Affliction. —  Meeting  of  Old  Friends.  —  The  Treatment  due 
to  All, 311 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 
Waldo  Lund. —  The  Drooping  Spirits  of  the  Invalid  revive, 324 


CONTENTS.  .  VH 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

A  Walk  bj  the  Brook. —  A  Child's  Prayer. —  Happy  Thoughts, 332 

CHAPTER    XXX. 

The  Poor-house. —  Hector's  Religion. — Sickness  and  Rebellion  among  the  Pau- 
pers.—  Polly  Haggett  in  Luck. —  She  starts  on  her  Bridal  Journey,  .  .337 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Putting  Things  to  Rights.—  A  Ride.—  Old  Times.—  A  Child's  Thoughts,  .  346 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

At  Church. —  The  Young  Critic. —  Among  Old  Friends. —  Supplies  his  Sub- 
scribers.—  With  the  Penlys  again. —  Returns  Home, 357 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

An  Irish  Cook. —  An  Old  Friend. —  A  Child's  Frankness. —  Waldo's  Thoughts 
and  Wishes,  and  his  Mother's  Fears, 370 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

A  Visit  from  Mr.  Penly. —  Marriage  of  Hattie. —  A  Happy  Home. — A  Splen- 
did Spectacle,  380 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

Miss  Whiting's  Story. —  The  Early  Marriage  of  her  Mother. —  Loss  of  her 
Husband. —  Marries  again.  —  Capt.  Clinton  Shipwrecked. —  Is  made  a 
Slave. —  After  Eight  Years'  Captivity  is  Ransomed. —  Returns  Home.  — A 

Thrilling  Scene. —  Reunion, 388 

/ 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 
The  Proposal.— Reasons  for  Hope, 400 


VHI  .  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

Illness  of  Waldo.  —  "  We  are  but  Two,  Mamma  ! " 406 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

The  Bereaved  Mother. —  True  hearted  Devotion. —  The  Reward  of  Faithful 
Lore,  . 412 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

The  Crowning  Event. —  Sale  of  the  Farm  in  Stetson. —  Purchase  of  the  Gregg 
Farm. —  At  their  New  Home. —  Mr.  Bugbee  in  a  Passion  expresses  his  Opin- 
ion.—  Marriage  of  Miss  Whiting. —  Mother  and  Child  meet  again. —  Capt. 
Clinton  removes  to  Glenwood. —  Home  and  Happiness,  .  .  .  .  .  .417 


CHAPTER  I. 

^^  GLENWOOD. THE   GREGGS. 

THE  vilfage  of  Glenwood  (which  we  are  about  to  describe, 
and  in  which  were  enacted  many  of  the  scenes  the  reader 
will  find  in  this  book)  lies  in  a  pleasant  valley  in  one  of  the 
New  England  States,  at  the  base  of  a  high  hill,  dignified  by 
the  inhabitants  with  the  name  of  mountain.  Near  by  is  a 
beautiful  sheet  of  water,  bordered  with  flowers  and  green 
and  red  shrubbery,  giving  it  a  unique  and  picturesque  appear- 
ance, and  making  it,  in  all  its  aspects,  one  of  the  most  charm- 
ing inland  lakes  that  the  eye  ever  beheld.  Into  this  lake 
the  high  hill  casts  its  shadow ;  and  bright-eyed  children, 
when  they  behold  it,  clap  their  hands,  and  call  it  the  looking 
glass  of  the  mountain. 

The  hill  or  mountain  is  covered  with  tall  pines,  which 
were  green  and  large  a  long  time  ago.  They  are  thrifty  still, 
and  at  night,  when  the  moon  shines  and  the  winds  blow, 
they  wave  to  and  fro  in  the  blast,  and  reflect  a  large  and 
magical  bridge  into  the  shining  lake. 

The  green  hill  has  ever  been  a  famous  resort  for  the  people 
of  Glenwood.  Persons  with  lively  imagination,  and  strong, 
bold  heart,  delighted  to  wander  there  by  night;  while  the  timid 
preferred  to  remain  at  home,  for  the  moving  shadows  awoke 
their  fears,  aid  filled  their  souls  with  gloom.  To  the  former 


10  GLEN  WOOD. 

it  was  as  gratifying  as  fairy  books  for  children ;  —  those  dark 
forms  towering  far  up  into  the  heavens  were  the  giants  they 
had  read  of  in  their  childhood  ;  and  when  the  soft  evening 
air  gently  moved  the  tree-tops,  and  caused  a  slight  murmur 
or  rustle  as  it  played  among  the  highest  branches,  they  fan- 
cied the  giants  were  bowing  their  heads  and  whispering  great 
secrets,  or  that  they  were  lovers  saluting  each  other  with 
warm  kisses,  or  pouring  honeyed  words  into  greedy  ears. 
Again,  when  the  great  winds  swept  through  those  mighty 
trees  with  continuous  roar,  alternating  with  shrieks  and 
moans,  the  giants  were  angry,  and  they  were  uttering  terri- 
ble threats  to  some  neighboring  giants,  or  they  were  waging 
v!i  fierce  quarrel  among  themselves.  And  children,  when  they 
passed  near  the  mountain  in  the  evening,  would  move  with  a 
light,  quick  step,  for  they  fancied  they  "saw  men  as  trees 
walking,"  and  heard  strange,  mysterious  whisperings  come 
down  from  the  dark,  tall  trees.  But  in  the  day-time  such 
fears  troubled  them  not ;  for  it  was  the  delight  of  old  and 
young,  when  the  sun  was  sinking,  to  repair  to  the  lovely 
green  slope  on  the  south  side,  and  lie  down  in  the  cool  shade, 
or  sit  and  read  or  relate  laughable  stories,  while  lovers  walked 
apart,  uttering  thoughts  which  were  too  sacred  for  any  to 
listen  to  but  themselves.  Here  were  the  children  happy ; 
sheltered  from  the  burning  sun,  they  ran  and  gambolled,  and 
boys  and  girls  rolled  down  the  hill-side,  upon  the  earth's 
clean,  green  carpet,  one  after  the  other,  in  an  ecstasy  of  fun 
and  frolic,  shouting  in  the  fulness  of  their  glee. 

In  the  clear  silver  lake  the  people  caught  fishes,  the  boys 
bathed,  and  gathered  the  milk-white  lilies,  whose  long  stems 
were  as  graceful  as  the  flowers  were  beautiful. 

The  hill  and  lake  were  the  pride  of  the  people  of  Glen- 


GLENWOOD.  11 

wood,  and  it  was  an  unwritten  law  among  them  that  no 
more  trees  should  be  cut  upon  the  mountain,  the  land  should 
not  be  ploughed  upon  the  south  side,  and  the  lake  should  be 
kept  clean  near  its  borders,  and  fishes  should  be  caught  only 
at  stated  periods. 

Glenwood  has  respectable  pretensions  in  the  way  of  import- 
ance, because  of  size.  Its  location  is  healthy  and  attractive, 
the  streets  are  well  laid  out,  the  architecture  of  the  buildings 
is  unusually  good,  and  the  yards  and  gardens  are  arranged 
with  commendable  taste.  Twenty-five  years  have  wrought 
little  change,  although  there  have  been  some  additions  and 
improvements.  A  majority  of  the  people  were  then  wealthy 
farmers,  and  they  are  so  to  this  day.  There  is,  however,  a 
commendable  amount  of  mechanical  business  done  here. 
There  is  a  manufactory  for  sleighs,  and  another  of  oil-cloths, 
and  another  for  various  kinds  of  wooden-ware, —  nutmegs  and 
cucumber-seeds  not  included,  those  articles  of  commerce  and 
art  belonging  exclusively,  we  believe,  to  the  land  of  "  steady 
habits."  There  is  also  an  organ  manufactory.  These  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  mechanical  business  give  employment  to  a 
large  number  of  men  and  boys,  and  have  brought  into  the 
village  some  original  characters,  which  I  may  have  occasion 
by  and  by  to  introduce  to  the  reader. 

Many  virtues  had  the  people  of  Glenwood,  though  it  must 
be  confessed  that  in  some  respects  they  were  sadly  deficient. 
The  majority  labored  diligently  during  the  week,  attended 
church  on  the  Sabbath,  were  honest  in  their  dealings  as  the 
world  goes,  but  sharp  at  a  bargain.  Pecadilloes  were  winked 
at;  arid,  though  the  prodigal  son  was  freely  forgiven,  espe- 
cially by  the  gentler  sex,  the  young  woman  who  had  sacri- 
ficed her  virgin  purity,  even  though  she  had  but  once  sinned, 


12  GLENWOOD. 

was  never  forgiven ;  men  and  women  united  to  pour  out 
their  vials  of  contempt  upon  the  poor  offending  one,  forget- 
ting that  not  a  stone  would  have  been  cast  at  the  fallen  child 
if  they  had  remembered  their  own  infirmities,  and  thereby 
learned  that  they  too  were  sinners.  Alas  !  that  the  erring 
should  ever  be  made  to  feel  that  there  is  no  forgiveness  and 
no  restoration  for  them.  When  there  is  a  frown  on  every 
face,  to  whom  shall  the  fallen  go  for  help  ?  To  Jesus,  say 
you  ?  It  is  well.  All  the  sinful  may  look  to  heaven  with 
hope.  But  we  must  remember  that  these  bodies  of  ours  re- 
quire shelter,  clothes,  and  food;  and,  guilty  as  we  may  become, 
we  do  not  relish  the  being  closed  from  the  circle  of  friendship 
and  sympathy  ;  and  the  poor  soul  needs  to  be  encouraged  by 
loving  hearts  to  rely  on  the  Lord  for  pardon. 

The  poor  and  unfortunate  in  Glenwood  were  not  entirely 
overlooked.  The  pauper  was  provided  with  a  home  —  so  the 
people  generally  supposed,  and  in  a  certain  sense  the  sup- 
position was  correct.  But  what  right  have  people  to  be 
poor  ?  "If  they  will  throw  themselves  upon  the  town,  why, 
then,"  as  Mr.  Blossom,  of  Glenwood,  said,  "they  must  ex- 
pect to  be  taken  care  of  as  cheaply  as  common  decency  will 
allow."  And  certainly  Mr.  Blossom  was  a  reasonable  man, 
and  a  charitable  man  withal ;  at  least,  he  was  so  regarded  by 
many  of  his  townsmen. 

The  people  of  Glenwood  were  a  church-going  people ;  and, 
twenty-five  years  since,  there  were  three  meeting-houses,  all 
well  filled  on  fair  Sundays,  and  now  there  are  four.  The 
minister's  salary  is  promptly  paid,  and  donation-parties  are 
frequent  and  largely  attended.  At  such  times  the  clergyman's 
house  is  well  stored  with  provisions,  and  various  articles  of 
clothing  for  the  cold  winter. 


QLENWOOD.  13 

By  this  time  I  think  the  reader  is  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  the  people  of  Glenwood ;  at  least,  as  much  so  as  he  will 
care  to  be  for  the  present.  A  more  intimate  acquaintance 
is  only  desirable  as  we  progress  with  our  story. 

In  a  large,  elegant  house  on  the  east  side  of  the  village,  a 
few  rods  from  the  lake,  lived  Joseph  Gregg,  a  farmer,  and  a 
manufacturer  of  sleighs.  At  the  time  our  story  commences, 
he  owned  three  hundred  acres  of  good  land,  the  most  of  it 
being  under  cultivation.  In  his  factory  he  employed  twenty 
men,  and  later  a  dozen  more  in  making  organs.  Mr.  Gregg 
prided  himself  on  his  business  tact,  and  in  fact  there  were 
not  many  things  which,  in  his  estimation,  he  could  not  do 
as  well  as  anybody  else.  He  was  a  self-conceited  man,  and 
took  great  pride  in  differing  from  other  people,  especially  in 
religion ;  and  he  often  boasted  that  all  three  of  the  clergy- 
men in  town  had  been  "  floored  "  by  him  in  an  argument  on 
Scripture  and  reason.  In  his  religious  creed  he  was  liberal 
in  the  extreme ;  but  his  faith  seemed  only  to  play  round  hia 
head,  without  once  touching  his  heart.  The  former  was 
warm  and  benevolent  in  all  its  aspects ;  the  latter,  cold  and 
hard. 

Mr.  Gregg's  family  consisted  of  himself,  one  son,  two 
daughters,  and  a  housekeeper.  Thomas  Gregg,  the  son,  was 
the  eldest  child ;  Fanny  was  the  next  eldest,  being  two  years 
younger ;  and  Delia,  the  remaining  sister,  was  four  years 
younger  than  Fanny.  The  name  of  the  housekeeper  was 
Mary  Haggett ;  she  was  called  Polly  Haggett.  She  had 
been,  so  it  was  currently  reported,  quite  a  belle  in  her  younger 
days,  and  refused,  in  not  a  very  lady-like  way,  many  advan- 
tageous offers,  and  one  from  an  excellent  young  man,  whom 
she  felt  she  could  love  devotedly  if  he  were  only  rich.  But, 


14  GLENWOOD. 

alas  !  her  beauty  had  now  faded ;  all  her  teeth  were  gone 
but  two,  so  that  her  cheeks  had  met  with  a  collapse ;  and  on 
her  forehead  time,  or  disappointment,  or  hopes  long  deferred, 
had  ploughed  many  and  deep  furrows ;  and  under  her  eyes 
the  crow-tracks  were  so  intermingled  and  innumerable,  that 
you  felt  she  was  now 

'An  antiquated  maid." 

There  was  one  feature  upon  which  she  still  prided  herself, 
and  she  had  a  right  to  do  so.  Though  more  than  forty 
years  had  passed  over  her  head,  her  hair  was  long,  thick, 
wavy,  and  of  a  beautiful  brown,  soft  and  glossy  as  silk. 
Many  a  damsel  of  sweet  sixteen  envied  the  old  maid  her 
lovely  looks. 

Mrs.  Gregg  died  when  Delia  was  two  years  old.  Seldom 
is  there  seen  a  more  interesting  child  than  was  this  little 
dark-eyed  one,  left  without  a  mother  at  that  tender  age. 
Mrs.  Gregg  was  entirely  unlike  her  husband,  —  differing  with 
him  in  his  religious  views,  believing  in  a  sterner  creed.  —  yet 
was  she  gentle,  loving,  and  faithful,  in  all  things.  Mr.  Gregg 
believed  that  woman  was  far  inferior  to  man ;  and  he  was 
continually  prating  about  "silly  women,"  how  easily  they 
were  "gulled"  by  the  clergy,  and  made  to  believe  the  most 
foolish  and  inconsistent  things.  When  he  married,  he  pro- 
fessed the  same  faith  with  his  wife,  and  argued  stoutly  in  its 
defence ;  in  fact,  was  a  member  of  the  church ;  and  when  he 
changed,  he  fretted  her  continually  because  she  did  not  change 
also.  "  Women's 'rights  "  were  an  abomination  in  his  sight ; 
and  he  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  wife  to 
deliver  up  her  conscience,  her  mind,  her  faith,  and  heart,  into 


GLENWOOD.  16 

the  keeping  of  her  husband.     If  the  two  were  made  one,  it 
was  by  sinking  her  identity  utterly. 

It  may  easily  be  surmised  what  would  be  the  result  of 
linking  the  earthly  destiny  of  a  pure-hearted,  high-minded 
woman  with  such  a  man.  Mrs.  Gregg  tried  hard  to  please, 
but  seldom  succeeded.  She  was  continually  censured, 
charged  with  neglect  of  duty  when  rnqst  faithful ;  accused 
of  nervousness  and  feigning  sickness,  when  she  should  have 
met  with  sympathy.  She  wished  that  she  might  become  so 
accustomed  to  this  treatment,  and  hardened,  that  it  would  no 
longer  cause  her  such  cruel  suffering.  But  it  would  not  do ; 
her  nature  was  too  pure,  her  temperament  too  nervous  and 
exquisite ;  and  so  she  lived  only  to  be  mortified,  to  suffer 
the  keejiest  disappointment  and  anguish,  until  her  warm 
heart  beat  out  its  life.  One  bright  autumn  day,  when  the 
sun  was  low  in  the  heavens,  she  gathered  her  young  children 
around  her,  pressed  them  to  her  bosom,  and  then  in  strong 
faith  entered  the  valley  of  shadows.  Mr.  Gregg  was  away 
when  the  weary  one  went  home,  and  he  wept  much  when  he 
returned ;  but  he  did  not  doubt  that,  in  the  main,  he  had  been 
a  most  exemplary  husband. 

Polly  Haggett,  who  was  now  dependent  upon  her  own 
labors  for  a  livelihood,  was  immediately  installed  as  house- 
keeper. Little  Delia  had  the  blackest  eyes,  the  loveliest 
mouth,  and  the  most  winning  expression.  Her  face  was  round 
and  fair,  and  her  elfin  locks,  and  a  wayward,  nameless  grace 
in  all  her  movements,  made  her  most  bewitching.  Her 
father  loved  her  dearly ;  at  one  time  being  over-indulgent,  at 
another  exacting  and  severe.  His  management  of  the  other 
children  was  after  the  same  model ;  but  he  showed  the  most 
affection  for  Delia ;  she  was  his  pet ;  and,  though  frequently 


16  GLEN  WOOD. 

harsh  and  unkind  to  her,  yet  in  his  eye  she  was  the  most 
perfect  of  children.  He  would  often  say,  in  an  exultant  man- 
ner, "  Delia  has  my  blood  in  her !  You  may  see  it  in  the 
glance  of  her  eye,  in  her  proud  step."  He  was  right;  the 
bright  little  thing  had  his  blood,  but  then  it  did  not  make 
her  more  noble  or  pure.  That  it  gave  her  some  energy  of 
character  is  possible.;  but  her  beauty,  virtues,  and  winning 
graces,  she  inherited  from  her  sainted  mother. 


CHAPTER  II. 

JOSEPH   GREGG,    ESQ. POLLY   HAGGETT. 

THE  evening  of  the  day  that  Polly  Haggett  was  installed 
as  housekeeper  at  Mr.  Gregg's,  these  two  respectable  par- 
ties occupied  the  sitting-room  alone.  The  latter  had  sat 
very  stiffly  for  a  half-hour,  reading  the  weekly  paper ;  but 
he  now  laid  it  aside,  and  entered  without  delay  upon  the 
important  matter  uppermost  in  his  thoughts. 

"Hem!  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "that  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  your  being  my  housekeeper  as  long  as 
is  desirable,  Miss  Haggett." 

"Not  anything  that  I  know  of  for  the  present,"  she 
replied. 

"  For  the  present  ?"  emphasizing  the  last  word.  "If  there 
is  anything  in  the  future,  anything  not  of  the  present,  I 
should  like  to  be  informed  in  relation  thereto." 

This  stiff,  dignified  way  of  saying  little  things,  which  is 
so  much  in  vogue  with  little  great  men,  constituting,  in  fact, 
all  the  claim  they  have  to  greatness,  somewhat  disconcerted 
Miss  Haggett,  who  was  usually  as  affected  as  Mr.  Gregg 
was  dignified.  She  therefore  sat  in  silence,  trying  to  form 
an  answer ;  and  it  was  just  as  well  that  she  did  not  imme- 
diately speak,  for  Mr.  Gregg  was  extremely  fond  of  hearing 
himself  talk,  and  he  thought  that  others  were  even  better 
2* 


18  GLBNWOOD. 

pleased,  than  he.  In  public  meetings,  if  people  became  so 
weary  of  his  long,  drawn-out  harangues,  consisting  of  words 
divorced  from  ideas  long  before  the  flood,  with  no  probability 
of  a  reunion  this  side  of  eternity,  that  one  half  left  the  house, 
he  would  think  that,  if  he  had  not  been  speaking,  they  would 
have  all  gone,  or  a  portion  of  the  audience  were  so  obtuse 
that  they  could  not  comprehend  him. 

"You  of  course  understand  me?"  he  said.  "I  know 
nothing  of  your  future  prospects.  It  is  possible  that  you 
are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  0  !  no,"  said  Miss  Haggett,  in  some  alarm,  wondering 
if  Mr.  Gregg  was  about  to  propose.  "  I  assure  you,  sir, 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  have  no  such  thoughts  —  the  day- 
dreams of  youth  are  fleeting,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  they  are  so ;  nothing  is  lasting  in  this  changing 
world  but  mind,  and  that  shall  continue  when  the  rock 
in  —  in  —  in  the  water  shall  have  been  moved  from  its 
strong  foundations.  I  am  extremely  glad  to  hear  that  your 
future  is  like  your  present,  Miss  Haggett,  not  appropriated ; 
because  I  wish  to  have  things  in  my  house  permanent." 

"  Per  — permanent  did  you  say,  sir  ?  " 

"  To  a  certain  degree,  Miss  Haggett.  I  wish  to  be  assured 
that  the  one  who  occupies  the  important  and  responsible  — 
mind,  I  say  responsible  position  —  of  having  the  charge  of  my 
house  and  children,  shall  continue  in  that  important  and  re- 
sponsible position  for  many  years.  Are  you  willing,  Miss 
Haggett,  to  occupy  that  position?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  to  please  you." 

"  It  is  well,  for  no  one  can  do  better  than  his  best.  Posi- 
tive good,  comparative  better,  superlative  best  —  the  latter 
is  all  I  require ;  and  the  reasonableness  of  this  requirement 


GLENWOOD.  19 

should  induce  you  to  enter  my  service  with  hopes  of  suc- 
cess. In  my  note  to  you  I  mentioned  the  sum  which  I  was 
willing  to  make  over  to  you  per  week,  for  the  responsibility 
which  you  now  enter  upon.  Is  that  satisfactory?" 

"  I  think  it  will  do ;  but,  should  I  require  more  —  " 

"  Should  you  require  more  !  Why,  you  cannot  require 
more.  The  stipulated  sum  will  clothe  you  well,  and  find  you 
in  spending-money.  However,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  parsimo- 
nious ;  and,  if  I  am  pleased  with  you,  I  will  give  you  even 
more  than  I  had  intended." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Your  name  is  Polly,  I  understand? " 

"  Mary  is  my  name,  sir,  but  I  am  sometimes  called  Polly, 
though  in  my  brighter  days  I  was  always  called  Miss 
Haggett." 

"  Never  mind  if  you  were ;  I  like  the  name  Polly  best.  It 
is  the  right  sort  of  a  name  for  a  domestic  ;  and  hereafter  I 
shall  call  you  Polly,  and  the  children  will  call  you  nothing 
else  but  Polly."  After  a  pause, 

"  My  children,  Polly,  are  in  a  measure  committed  to 
your  care ;  and  I  want  you  to  be  decided  with  them,  but  not 
severe,  and  don't  spoil  them  with  kisses  and  caresses.  Mrs. 
Gregg  was  in  some  respects  a  woman  of  sense ;  but  she  lacked 
my  judgment,  and  then  she  was  always  hugging  and  kiss- 
ing her  offspring  when  she  should  have  been  teaching  them 
dignity  by  example,  and  womanly  —  hem  —  womanly  bear- 
ing. This  you  will  remember,  and  govern  yourself  in  accord- 
ance thereto.  Other  things,  in  relation  to  the  general  and 
particular  management  of  household  affairs,  will  be  con- 
sidered hereafter;  and  until  then  let  the  theme  remain  as 
though  it  had  not  been.  Good-night,  Polly." 


20  GLENWOOD. 

"Good-night,  sir,"  she  replied,  and  retired  to  think  about 
her  responsible  position,  and  whether  she  should  ever  succeed 
in  entrapping  the  dignified  Mr.  Gregg,  so  that  she  could  be 
the  mistress  of  the  house  in  reality. 

After  she  had  laid  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  she  turned 
the  subject  over  and  over  in  her  mind,  and  queried  how  the 
thing  could  be  done.  Mr.  Gregg  was  all  she  could  desire  ; 
wealthy,  and  more  than  a  common  person,  or  he  could  not 
talk  as  she  supposed  all  the  great  men  did,  with  so  much 
dignity,  and  conscious,  lofty  bearing.  And  was  not  Polly — 
(for,  in  deference  to  the  superior  wisdom  of  Mr.  Gregg,  you 
and  I,  reader,  will  call  her  Polly  too)  —  and  was  not  Polly 
right  in  supposing  that  Mr.  Gregg  was  something  more  than 
ordimry  ?  Don't  mothers  and  daughters  everywhere  think 
very  highly  of  a  man,  if  his  bearing  be  lofty,  and  if  he  seems 
very  intellectual,  and  says  trite  things  as  though  every  word 
weighed  a  pound,  as  has  been  said  of  the  stout  Saxon  words  of 
Daniel  Webster  ?  And  don't  men  sometimes  sit  with  open 
mouths  if  a  public  speaker  shall  only  appear  to  be  uttering 
great  thoughts  ?  Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  be  too  prodigal  in 
your  compassion  for  the  weakness  and  want  of  discernment  in 
Polly  Haggett ;  for  the  sound  is  not  unfrequently  taken  for 
the  substance,  and  many  men  do  an  extensive  business  on  an 
amazingly  small  capital.  And,  then,  if  a  man  be  wealthy,  or 
a  young  woman  have  wealthy  parents,  why,  they  are  sensible 
people  —  they  are  genteel  people  —  they  belong  to  the  ton; 
and  the  pompous  speeches  of  the  former,  and  witless  sayings 
and  exceedingly  small  talk  of  the  latter,  are  swallowed  with 
keen  relish,  and  digested,  too,  as  though  dyspepsia  had  never 
been  heard  of.  It  is  very  possible  that  the  same  things 
from  some  people  might  produce  nausea ;  but  they  must  not 


GLEN  WOOD.  21 

be  fashionable  people,  for  that  would  be  decidedly  out  of 
character. 

Polly  Haggett  resolved,  that  night,  that  she  would  not 
always  be  Polly  Haggett.  To  be  Mrs.  Mary  Gregg  was 
now  the  height  of  her  ambition.  There  was  one  great  de- 
fect, which  must  be  remedied  as  soon  as  possible  —  she  must 
have  a  new  set  of  teeth.  As  soon  as  she  could  save  a  suffi- 
cient sum,  she  would  go  to  Boston,  and  be  no  longer  "  sans 
teeth."  But  it  would  require  quite  a  large  amount;  and,  as 
she  received. only  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  a  week  for  her 
services,  she  must  be  very  economical,  or  it  would  never  be 
obtained.  With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  Polly  fell 
asleep,  and  dreamed  all  night  of  Mr.  Gregg,  his  offer,  and 
her  acceptance,  the  renewing  of  her  youth,  the  honors 
which  she  now  received,  and  the  blessedness  of  married 
life. 

When  she  awoke  the  next  morning,  it  was  hard  to  per- 
suade herself  that  it  was  all  a  dream.  But,  then,  Polly 
believed  in  dreams ;  and,  as  she  discarded  the  common  saying, 
that  dreams  always  go  by  contraries,  she  arose  in  a  cheer- 
ful, hopeful  mood,  with  a  lighter  heart  than  for  many  years 
before. 

Little  Delia,  as  young  as  she  was,  seemed  to  comprehend, 
in  a  measure,  the  loss  she  had  met  Avith :  for  it  was  long 
before  she  could  be  made,  by  the  most  tender  treatment,  to 
be  the  glad-hearted,  laughing  child  she  had  been  before. 
So  often  was  she  found  weeping,  that  her  dignified  father 
did  not  interpose  his  opinion  and  authority  when  Polly 
pressed  her  lovingly  to  her  bosom,  and  kissed  away  her 
tears.  But  childhood  griefs  are  not  usually  of  long  dura- 
tion, and  Delia's  sorrows  were  in  due  time  forgotten.  Then 


22  QLENWOOD. 

it  was  that  Polly  became  more  stern  in  her  bearing ;  for, 
although  she  had  a  warm  heart,  and  loved  to  fondle  little 
children,  yet,  as  she  had  a  great  object  in  view,  she  wished 
to  please  Mr.  Gregg,  and  conduct  herself  as  nearly  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  views  as  possible.  Being  so  submissive, 
always  yielding  to  his  superior  wisdom,  she  succeeded  in 
pleasing  him  well,  and  he  declared  that  she  was  the  pattern 
of  a  housekeeper.  The  children  grew  up  under  her  charge 
and  their  father's,  not  truly  loving  either,  for  the  latter  was 
often  harsh  and  unjust,  and  was  never  willing  that  they 
should  act  like  children ;  he  wanted  them  little  men  and 
women ;  and  Polly  dared  not  manifest  that  love  which  chil- 
dren require  from  those  who  stand  in  the  place  of  parents  ; 
and  then  they  were  always  taught  by  their  father  to  regard 
her  as  an  inferior  being, —  one  whom  they  must  obey,  to  be 
sure,  because  it  was  for  their  welfare  that  they  should. 

When  two  years  had  passed,  Polly,  having  saved  the  sum 
desired,  made  a  journey  to  Boston,  and  procured  the  long-cov- 
eted teeth.  It  really  did  make  a  wonderful  .difference  in  her 
manner  of  speaking.  Her  cheeks  were  no  longer  so  awfully 
sunken,  and,  as  soon  as  she  became  accustomed  to  the  new 
additions  to  her  mouth,  she  ceased  talking  like  an  old 
woman  of  seventy,  and  the  full  tones,  long  lost,  seemed  to 
come  back  aa  by  magic. 

After  she  returned  from  the  metropolis,  she  spent  the 
evening  with  Mr.  Gregg,  who  did  not  notice  the  difference ; 
but  the  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Delia  espied  the  new 
teeth,  when  she  suddenly  screamed  out,  clapping  her  hands, 
"Just  see  Polly's  mouth!  It  is  chock  full  of  white 
teeth." 

Mr.  Gregg  looked  with  surprise,  and  Polly  blushed,  and 


GLENWOOD.  28 

was  extremely  confused.  The  former  frowned  reprovingly 
upon  Delia,  and  she  did  not  venture  to  say  more. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  children  had  retired,  Mr.  Gregg 
thought  it  his  duty,  as  the  responsible  head  of  the  family, 
to  inquire  into  the  matter.  He  expressed  his  surprise  that 
she  should  have  taken  such  a  step  without  consulting  him, 
when  he  had  so  much  wisdom  and  experience  ;  doubted  the 
propriety  of  expending  so  large  a  sum  for  false  teeth,  when 
she  would  so  much  need  it  in  her  old  age  ;  thought  that  so 
many  teeth  —  a  whole  mouthful  —  were  entirely  superfluous. 

Polly  justified  herself  on  the  ground  that  she  could  not 
masticate  the  hearty  food  which  her  system  required  without 
teeth ;  that  the  children  would  hear  her  talk  every  day,  and 
it  was  requisite  for  their  good  that  she  should  be  able  to 
pronounce  her  words  well ;  and  it  must  be  more  agreeable  to 
himself  to  have  her  converse  with  round,  full  tones,  rather 
than  like  a  very  old  lady. 

Mr.  Gregg  could  not  gainsay  Polly's  reasons,  and  so  ac- 
knowledged that  the  step  which  she  had  seen  fit  to  take 
without  consulting  him  "in  relation  thereto,"  was,  upon  the 
whole,  a  wise  step.  The  latter  consideration,  however,  was 
more  weighty  in  his  mind  than  the  former.  He  told  her  that 
she  could  have  done  very  well  so  far  as  her  food  was  con- 
cerned, for  she  had  for  many  years ;  but  it  was  requisite  that 
she  should  pronounce  her  words  correctly,  for  the  children, 
especially  the  youngest,  would  listen  to  her  conversation 
more  than  thut  of  any  other  person,  and  he  wanted  them  all 
to  speak  worthy  of  their  origin.  He  believed  that,  if  they 
could  learn  to  converse  from  him  alone,  they  never  would 
need  to  study  grammar  at  all,  for  they  would  speak  all  their 
words  with  the  most  perfect  propriety.  Mr.*Grogg  would 


24  GLENWOOD. 

not  censure  Polly  for  the  "  very  responsible  and  important 
step  "  she  had  taken  without  asking  his  advice,  but  hoped  that 
hereafter  she  would  consult  him  in  matters  of  serious  import, 
for  he  wished  to  be  of  service  to  the  "  humblest  and  most 
insignificant." 

Polly  replied  by  saying  that  she  did  not  doubt  it  at  all, 
for  his  "  kind  heart  "  would  not  allow  him  to  do  otherwise, 
wondering  all  the  while  what  he  really  meant  by  ' '  humblest 
and  most  insignificant."  "If  I  thought  he  had  reference 
to  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  would  not  stay  here  another 
day  ;  no  —  not  another  day  !  " 

Under  the  guidance  of  these  two  wise  beings,  the  three 
children  grew  up.  Thomas,  at  twenty-one,  was  nearly  as  con- 
ceited and  dignified  as  his  father  ;  Fanny,  as  superficial  and 
affected  as  the  old  maid  who  had  the  care  of  her ;  while 
Delia  remained  as  artless  and  wayward  as  when  a  little  child. 

At  sixteen  she  was  a  very  beautiful  girl,  of  medium  height, 
erect  and  well-formed,  with  a  handsome  face,  hair  as  black 
as  the  raven's  wings,  and  dark,  brilliant  eyes,  shaded  by  long, 
silken  lashes.  Her  father  had  sought  earnestly  to  make  her 
dignified  and  womanly,  as  he  called  it ;  and  Polly  endeavored 
to  teach  her  the  required  "female  accomplishments,"  which 
consisted  in  part,  at  least,  of  affectation,  and  talking  wisely 
about  nothing;  but  all  would  not  do  —  she  was  the  same  un- 
sophisticated child,  full  of  vivacity,  fun,  and  frolic,  and  in 
her  bosom  was  a  world  of  warm-hearted  love. 

All  this  time  had  Polly  waited,  hoping  to  be  made  a 
happy  wife,  but  waited  in  vain  She  was  now  quite  old, 
but  what  with  her  false  teeth,  and  the  new  hope  which  had 
sprung  up  within  her  heart,  she  looked  younger  and  fairer 
than  she  did  when  she  first  entered  the  home  of  the  Greggs. 


GLENWOOD.  25 

She  had  taken  every  precaution  to  make  herself  necessary 
to  the  comfort  of  Mr.  Gregg.  She  consulted  his  wishes 
in  all  things ;  prepared  the  kinds  of  food  which  he  preferred, 
took  the  nicest  care  of  his  wardrobe,  and  kept  the  house 
scrupulously  neat.  At  night,  when  he  returned  home,  his 
arm-chair  was  always  drawn  up  by  the  fire,  and  his  slippers 
ready  to  put  on. 

Sometimes  Mr.  Gregg  would  say  to  himself,  "  She  would 
make  a  good  wife ;  but,  pooh  !  shall  a  Gregg  marry  a  mere 
servant  ?  As  soon  as  I  have  time,  I  shall  look  me  up  such 
a  wife  as  I  require." 

Polly,  though  beginning  to  despair,  occasionally  intimated 
her  wishes  by  guarded  hints ;  but  all  would  not  do,  and  so 
she  resolved  to  try  the  effect  of  stratagem.  She  knew  that 
whenever  she  left  home  for  a  visit  of  a  day  or  two,  Mr. 
Gregg  was  very  impatient  for  her  return.  She  was  aware 
that  he  meant  to  seek  a  wife  before  he  was  much  oldef.  She 
did  not  intend  to  remain  one  moment  after  a  new  mistress 
should  enter  the  house ;  and  she  felt  that,  if  she  must  de- 
part, it  would  be  as  well  to  take  time  by  the  forelock.  Hav- 
ing so  determined,  she  informed  Mr.  Gregg  that  he  must 
procure  another  housekeeper,  for  she  should  remain  but  one 
month  longer.  Remonstrances  were  all  in  vain,  and  Mr. 
Gregg  was  obliged  to  secure  the  services  of  some  one  in 
Polly's  place.  The  latter  returned  to  her  old  home,  where 
lived  a  widowed  sister,  hoping  that  she  might  not  be  allowed 
to  remain  long. 

The  new  housekeeper  was  duly  installed  at  Mr.  Gregg's ; 

but  trouble  and  conflict  soon  followed.     She  was  an  old 

servant,  and  had  a  way  of  her  own,  being  very  sure  that 

it   was  the    rujht  way;  and  aa  for  Mr.  Gregg,  what  did 

3 


26  GLENWOOD. 

he  know  about  housekeeping  ?     She  would  not  be  dictated 
to,  especially  by  a  man,  who  was  meddling  with  what  he 
knew  nothing  about;  and  so  they  soon  came  to  an  open 
rupture,  and  she  left.     A  second  and  third  were  procured 
with  similar  results,  and  Mr.  Gregg  learned  that  his  peace- 
ful home,  where  he  had  always  had  his  own  way  in  all  things 
had  sadly  changed.     In  this  extremity  his  thoughts  turned 
to  Polly, —  the  faithful  and  obedient  Polly, —  and  he  re 
solved  to  try  the  magic  effect  of  larger  pay. 

Polly  was  not  much  surprised  when  she  saw  him  coming, 
for  she  had  expected  him  before  now,  though,  when  two 
months  had  passed  away,  she  began  to  doubt,  and  to  wish  that 
she  had  remained,  for  she  knew  that  she  must  soon  seek  an- 
other place ;  and,  then,  would  she  not  be  more  sure  of  winning 
the  prize  to  be  on  the  ground,  rather  than  many  miles  dis- 
tant ?  She  concluded  that  she  had  acted  very  foolishly,  and 
that  s&e  had  better  return,  should  the  opportunity  occur. 

The  greeting  which  Mr.  Gregg  now  gave  her  was  much 
warmer  than  it  ever  had  been  before ;  and  this  nattered  the 
simple  Polly  not  a  little,  and  wonderfully  brightened  her 
hopes.  She  was  not  sorry  to  see  that  he  looked  more  care- 
worn and  irritable  than  usual,  for  she  desired  him  to  feel 
how  essential  she  was  to  his  happiness. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  "  very  glad  to  see  you. 
The  fact  is,  Polly,  you  have  been  an  inmate  of  my  house  so 
long,  that  it  seems  odd  not  to  see  you  there.  I  have  missed 
you  every  day;  yes,  I  can  say,  with  truth,  every  day." 

"  You  are  very  complimentary,  Mr.  Gregg." 

"It  is  the  simple  truth,  Polly,  I  honestly  assure  you. 
I  '11  tell  you  how  it  is.  Since  you  left  us,  things  don't  go 
right  at  all;  no,  not  at  all,  Polly." 


GLENWOOD.  27 

"  What  is  the  trouble,  Mr.  Gregg?  " 

"  0,  a  great  many  things.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but 
the  domestics,  nowadays,  yourself  excepted,  Polly,  are  just 
good  for  nothing.  The  saucy,  impudent  things  !  they  don't 
know  their  place,  not  one  of  them  —  no,  not  one  of  them  ! 
Why,  they  an't  willing  a  man  should  be  master  in  his  own 
house  —  they  must  have  their  say,  the  husseys  !  I  have  had 
three «eince  you  left  us,  and  they  were  all  of  the  same  cloth  ; 
and  I.  have  been  kept  in  a  flurry  all  the  time  —  no  peace  in 
the  house.  Ten  thousand  furies !  If  my  temper  was  not 
angelic,  I  don't  know  what  I  might  have  been  left  to  do, — 
the  saucy  things  actually  withstood  me  to  my  face  ! ' ' 

"  Is  it  possible?  I  never  !  Who  would  have  thought 
it,  Mr.  Gregg  ?  Did  they  dare  to  oppose  your  wishes  — 
to  disobey  your  instructions  ?  " 

"  They  did,  indeed  !  I,  Joseph  Gregg,  Esq.,  was  told  by 
them  that  I  had  no  business  to  interfere  with  the  work  in 
the  house  —  that  my  place  was  in  the  shop  or  on  the  farm." 

"  I  am  astonished  more  and  more.  And  you  have  such 
a  perfect  idea  of  how  the  work  should  be  done,  and  you 
give  your  directions  so  calmly  and  pleasantly,  that  it  makes 
it  all  the  easier ;  and  then  one  learns  a  good  deal  from  such 
wise  heads." 

"  Very  true.  That  is  what  I  always  told  Mrs.  Gregg. 
You  are  a  sensible  person,  Polly." 

"  Do  you  think  so  truly,  Mr.  Gregg?  I  am  afraid  you 
are  only  flattering  a  simple  girl." 

"  I  speak  the  truth,  on  the  honor  of  a  Gregg,  Polly ; 
and  I'll  prove  it  to  you." 

"  You  are  kind,  indeed  you  are ;  and  I  am  very  grateful, 
for  I  think  your  opinion  worth  a  good  deal." 


28  QLENWOOD. 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  it  is.  You  lived  with  me  some 
years,  Polly,  and  we  never  had  the  least  trouble." 

"  To  be  sure  not ;  how  could  we,  when  both  wanted  to  do 
right?" 

"  That  proves  that  you  are  sensible,  Polly.  If  you  had 
been  as  senseless  as  your  successors,  we  should  have  quar- 
relled — hem  —  shortly." 

"  I  don't  think  that  we  should  quarrel,  if  we  shouW  live 
together  all  our  days ;  do  you,  Mr.  Gregg  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.     I  wish  that  it  might  be  so." 

"  You  do,"  Mr.  Gregg  ?     You  are  very  kind — you  wish 


"  Yes,  Polly,  contingencies  excepted." 

"  If  I  could  be  —  have  a  home  with  you  as  long  as  I  live, 
and  —  and  you  would  like  me  always  very  much,  I  wouldn't 
mind  if  I  went  back  with  you." 

"  We  know  not  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  us  ;  we 
know  little  in  relation  thereto;  and  therefore  I  cannot 
promise.  But  I  want  you  to  return  to  your  old  place,  and 
I  will  give  you  two  dollars  a  week." 

"I  do  not  care  so  much  about  the  money ;  but  it  is  so 
hard  always  to  be  a  mere  servant ;  one  wishes  to  be  some- 
thing better,  some  time." 

"  And  I  am  sure  that  a  woman  of  your  sense  need  not 
despair  of  being  something  better,  in  due  season,  Polly  ; 
at  least,  I  hope  so.  But,  then,  it  isn't  a  small  thing  to  be  the 
domestic  of  a  Gregg  ;  it  is  an  honor,  Polly." 

"  Well,  I  should  not  like  to  keep  house  for  everybody,  I 
am  sure ;  but,  then,  I  should  like  to  keep  house  for  myself  a 
good  deal  better  than  for  the  best  man  that  ever  was." 

"  You  are  not  to  be  blamed  for  that,  Polly ;  but  we  can- 


GLBNWOOD.  29 

not  always  do  as  we  would,  and  so  we  must  do  the  best  that 
we  can." 

"  That's  very  true,  I  am  sure,"  said  Polly,  her  bright 
hopes  growing  a  little  dim. 

"Well,  Polly,  will  you  go  with  me?  Thomas,  Fanny, 
and  Delia,  are  expecting  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  dis- 
appoint them." 

"  The  dear  children  !  Well,  then,  I  will  go,  for  I  feel  it 
a  duty ;  and,  Mr.  Gregg,"  and  she  gave  him,  as  she  thought, 
one  of  her  most  killing  glances,  "  I  do  so  like  to  live  where 
you  are,  for  —  for  I  learn  so  much  by  hearing  you  talk  and 
explain  a  good  many  mysterious  things ; ' '  and  she  immedi- 
ately packed  up  her  clothing,  and  went  home  with  Mr. 
Gregg.  Though  hoping  that  she  should  go  as  a  wife,  she 
was  obliged  to  resume  the  position  of  a  domestic  ;  but,  then, 
Mr.  Gregg  had  expressed  a  wish  that  they  might  live 
together  all  their  days,  and  that  meant  much ;  and  so  she 
resolved  to  wait  patiently  until  he  should  offer  his  heart 
and  hand,  which  she  so  much  coveted.  She  would  be  more 
faithful  than  ever,  and  he  should  more  distinctly  feel  than 
ever  how  essential  she  was  to  his  happiness. 
3* 


CHAPTER   III. 

JIlOfEY  PENLY. THE  UNKIND  FATHER.  —  STOtEN  INTERVIEWS.  —  TATA* 

DISASTER. 

IN  a  cottage  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  village  from  the 
house  of  Mr.  Gregg  lived  the  Widow  Penly,  whose  only 
companion  was  a  little  boy,  her  son,  James  Penly,  famil- 
iarly known  as  Jimmey.  Mrs.  Penly  had  been  left  a  widow 
when  thirty  years  of  age,  without  property,  and  with  a  child 
but  a  few  weeks  old.  She  was  naturally  of  feeble  health, 
and  difficult  was  the  struggle  to  keep  hunger  and  cold  from 
her  door.  She  took  in  sewing,  went  out  to  wash  for  the 
neighbors,  and  in  various  ways  respectably  maintained  her- 
self and  child.  The  clothing  of  both  was  composed  of 
cheap  materials,  but  it  was  cut  and  made  with  taste,  and 
kept  so  clean  that  their  garments  never  looked  mean ;  and 
so  Jimmey  stood  as  high  among  his  playmates  as  other  chil- 
dren. The  cottage  was  poorly  furnished,  and  the  food  very 
simple;  but  everything  was  so  neatly  arranged  that  each 
.  room  had  a  comfortable  and  home-like  aspect,  and  the  scan- 
tily-furnished table  was  not  without  its  attractions.  Jimmey 
Penly  was  two  years  older  than  Delia  Gregg,  and  when  the 
latter  was  four  and  the  former  six  they  met  for  the  first 
time  on  the  green  slope  of  the  mountain.  There  was  a 
gathering  of  children  on  the  occasion,  and  they  had  a  right 


QLENWOOD.  81 

merry  time  of  it.  Some  of  the  old  fathers  of  the  town, 
fresh  and  vigorous,  sitting  quietly  in  the  shade,  smoking 
their  pipes,  beheld  the  happy  children,  and  heartily  entered 
into  their  sports,  thus  living  over  again,  in  imagination, 
their  own  boyhood  days. 

As  is  not  unfrequently  the  case  with  little  children,  Jim- 
mey  and  Delia  seemed  to  form  an  instinctive  attachment. 
As  this  beautiful  pair,  the  one  with  blue  eyes  and  the  other 
with  black  eyes,  stood,  that  afternoon,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
tall  trees,  hand  in  hand,  who  would  have  prophesied  that 
the  sunlight  of  the  one  should  suddenly  be  extinguished, 
casting  a  dark  shadow  upon  the  other  ?  Our  little  friends 
were  as  playful  and  wild  as  the  wildest  of  the  troop ;  but 
now  and  then  they  would  stop  and  look  into  each  other's 
faces,  as  though  a  magic  spell  drew  them  together. 

After  this,  they  met  frequently,  sometimes  on  the  green 
slope,  or  at  the  homes  of  the  other  children.  Their  attach- 
ment grew,  and  strengthened  with  their  growth.  At  twelve 
and  fourteen  they  attended  the  same  singing-school,  and 
Jimmey  always  waited  upon  Delia  home ;  so  that  the  young 
boys  and  girls  were  all  convinced  that  they  were  thus  early 
engaged,  and  would,  in  due  time,  be  married.  Strange  aa 
it  may  appear,  their  first  meeting  was  the  dawn  of  love, 
and  they  ever  seemed  to  feel  that  they  belonged  to  each 
other.  Frequent  were  the  times  that  Jimmey  went  to  the 
lake,  and,  taking  a  pole,  reached  out  among  the  lilies,  and 
wound  round  it  the  long,  graceful  stems,  drawing  in  many 
a  prize  of  the  white,  sweet  flowers  to  present  to  his  lovely 
little  Delia.  In  early  spring  he  would  carry  to  her  the  gay 
lilac,  and  in  June  the  roses.  All  these  delicate  gifts  wero 
welcomed ;  and  whole  weeks  would  she  preserve  them  in 


32  GLENWOOD. 

her  room,  and,  while  she  would  gaze  in  delight  upon  them, 
she  would  think  of  the  giver ;  and  then  her  little  heart  beat 
wildly  with  joy,  and  she  would  pray  that  Jimmey's  love  and 
her  own  might  be  as  pure  and  sweet  as  the  flowers,  but  not 
so  frail.  When  Jimmey  was  fourteen,  he  would  take  a 
light  skiff  and  row  out  on  the  lake,  and  search  after  the 
largest  and  whitest  flowers  that  reposed  so  lovingly  upon 
the  swelling  bosom  of  the  waters;  for,  to  his  mind,  Delia 
was  worthy  of  the  most  beautiful.  When  Jimmey  was  old 
enough,  as  the  school  was  in  session  only  six  months  of 
the  year,  he  was  employed  the  remainder  of  the  time  by 
the  neighboring  farmers  to  aid  in  planting,  haying,  and 
gathering  in  the  harvest.  In  this  way  he  procured  potatoes 
and  corn,  butter  and  cheese,  and  other  home  necessaries, 
and  sometimes  a  few  dollars  to  purchase  clothing.  But  he 
always  returned  at  night ;  for  he  was  the  joy  of  his  poor 
mother,  and  the  light  of  her  home.  With  the  great  love  of 
a  mother,  in  all  its  purity  and  intensity,  did  she  regard  her 
Jimmey ;  and  dearly  he  loved  her  in  return,  and  prayed  to 
heaven  that  he  might  be  always  faithful  to  his  most  devoted 
parent. 

When  he  was  sixteen,  Mr.  Gregg  employed  him  in  his 
sleigh  factory,  promising  to  teach  him  to  manufacture  or- 
gans, in  due  time,  if  he  manifested  a  mechanical  genius. 

Some  of  the  workmen  now  remarked  that  Delia  came 
into  the  shop  more  frequently  than  she  had  previously  done. 
But  she  was  so  fresh  and  artless,  they  did  not,  in  the  least, 
regret  it.  Mr.  Gregg  was  so  engrossed  in  farming,  and 
other  business,  that  he  did  not  notice  it;  neither  had  he 
ever  been  aware  of  the  attachment  which  had  sprung  up 
between  his  daughter  and  the  poor  widow's  son.  In  fact 


QLENWOOD.  33 

he  was  too  dignified  and  egotistical  to  have  his  attention 
called  to  such  trifling  things. 

It,  however,  reached  him  at  last;  and  then,  to  use  hia 
own  words,  he  was  "  indignantly  angry  at  the  bare  idea." 
He  went  home  and  privately  charged  Delia  with  what  in 
his  eyes  was  a  grievous  sin.  She  could  not  deny  it.  Ter- 
rible, to  a  young,  sensitive  girl,  was  the  torrent  of  wrath 
which  he  poured  out  upon  her. 

"A  mere  beggar,"  he  said;  "and  you,  silly,  foolish  girl, 
think  yourself  in  love  !  And  you  would  marry  ?  Do  you 
think  he  can  support  you  ?  Can  he  furnish  you  silks  and 
satins,  and  clothe  you  like  a  lady,  as  I  do  ?  Can  he  pro- 
vide a  house  for  you  to  live  in  such  as  a  gentleman's  daugh- 
ter requires,  or  would  you  go  and  live  in  the  miserable  hovel 
with  his  mother  ?  Let  him  take  care  of  her,  and  keep  her 
from  the  town,  and  he  will  find  his  hands  full.  As  for  love, 
it  is  the  pastime  of  fools  and  silly  women.  Promise  me,  this 
moment,  Delia,  that  you  will  never  see  the  pauper  again  !  " 

In  the  early  part  of  this  interview  she  stood  trembling 
with  fear ;  but  the  offensive  epithets  of  the  harangue  aroused 
her  indignation,  and  she  answered,  boldly,  "He  is  not  a 
pauper,  sir,  and  never  will  be.  I  love  him  the  more  because 
of  your  contempt,  and  I  will  not  promise." 

Mr.  Gregg  now  stamped  his  foot  in  a  rage,  and  lifted  his 
hand  to  strike  her ;  but,  restraining  his  passion,  he  turned 
and  left  her  alone,  locking  the  door  behind  him.  At  this 
period  Delia  had  reached  her  sixteenth  year.  Mr.  Gregg 
sent  immediately  for  Mrs.  Penly,  and,  after  pouring  upon 
her,  all  defenceless  as  she  was,  the  bitterness  of  his  heart, 
he  closed  his  ungentlemanly  tirade  by  telling  her  to  take 
her  ungrateful  son  home  with  her,  and  never  let  him  see  his 


GLENWOOD. 

face  again.  He  paid  Jimmey  his  wages  and  dismissed  him, 
calling  him  a  beggar  and  pauper,  and  commanded  him  never 
to  speak  to  his  daughter  again.  Jimmey,  in  a  passion,  asked 
him  if  he  had  not  better  marry  the  old  maid  who  kept  his 
house  for  him,  for  then  he  might  save  her  wages. 

This  was  a  sad  blow  for  Mrs.  Penly,  for  Jimmey  was  con- 
sidered a  fine  mechanic,  and  had  been  at  work  upon  organs 
for  nearly  a  year  with  unusual  success.  In  their  own  little 
cottage  he  gave  full  vent  to  his  feelings  ;  but  the  loving 
voice  of  his  mother  soothed  the  deep  wound  in  his  heart,  and 
exorcised  the  demon  of  anger  from  his  breast.  She  bade 
him  hold  up  his  head  proudly,  for  honest  poverty  was  noth- 
ing to  be  ashamed  of,  and  hope  for  more  propitious  days. 

Delia  remained  in  her  room,  under  lock  and  key,  for 
three  weeks,  when  her  father,  feeling  that  she  had  too  much 
of  the  Gregg  element  in  her  to  be  subdued  by  such  means, 
thought  it  advisable  to  open  her  prison-door.  No  longer 
would  he  keep  her  locked  in  her  chamber,  but  under  strict 
surveillance ;  and  so  Polly  Haggett,  Thomas,  and  Fanny, 
were  commanded  to  act  as  her  body-guard,  that  she  might 
not  be  exposed  to  the  danger  of  meeting  Jimmey  Penly 
alone. 

If  it  is  true  that  love  laughs  at  bolts  and  bars,  we  might 
expect  the  merry  rogue  to  crack  his  sides  with  merriment  at 
such  a  guard  as  that,  composed  of  an  affected  old  maid,  a 
conceited  young  man,  and  a  foolish  girl.  They  fancied  that 
they  adopted  the  wisest  precautions ;  but  were  easily  out- 
witted, for  Jimmey  and  Delia  met  frequently,  or  sent  letters, 
and  the  spies  were  none  the  wiser. 

For  a  variety  of  reasons,  Jimmey  did  not  wish  to  leave 
Glenwood  to  seek  employment  elsewhere ;  and  so  lie  was 


QLENWOOD.  35 

under  the  necessity  of  engaging  in  the  coarse  mechanical 
business  of  manufacturing  wooden  ware. 

Mr.  Gregg  had  abused  Jimmey  Penly,  whom  Delia  loved 
with  her  whole  heart ;  he  had  locked  her  in  her  chamber  for 
three  weeks,  and  had  then  set  a  guard  over  her  ;  spies  con- 
tinually dogged  her  steps,  while  his  bearing  towards  her  was 
cold,  haughty,  and  repelling.  Such  treatment  was  not  fit- 
ted to  conciliate  or  subdue  a  nature  like  hers,  but  it  filled 
her  with  bitterness.  People  like  Mr.  Gregg  win  but  little 
love  and  respect,  even  from  their  own  children ;  and  the 
course  which  he  now  pursued  with  Delia  was  fast  eradicating 
what  little  there  was  in  her  heart.  He  bade  her,  on  the 
pain  of  his  everlasting  displeasure,  not  to  speak  to  her  lover ; 
and  yet  she  met  him  whenever  she  could  elude  the  spies. 
And  she  resolved  that  she  would  marry  him,  as  penniless  as 
he  was,  whenever  he  should  desire  it. 

Their  favorite  place  of  resort  was  in  the  woods  upon  the 
hill-side ;  and  there  they  wandered  many  an  evening  by 
moonlight,  or  sat  lovingly  whispering  heart-secrets  beneath 
the  tall  pines,  while  Delia's  guard  supposed  her  spending  the 
evening  with  the  daughter  of  a  near  neighbor.  She  had 
made  this  young  woman  her  confidant;  and  to  her  house  she 
always  went  when  she  wished  for  an  interview  with  Jimmey, 
or  desired  to  send  him  a  note.  Her  watch  saw  her  go  into 
this  neighbor's  house,  and  always  come  from  it ;  and  the 
poor  simple  souls  thought,  of  course,  that  she  went  nowhere 
else.  They  forgot  that  there  was  a  back  door  which  led 
into  a  garden,  with  a  high  fence ;  and  that  another  door, 
locked  on  the  inside,  opened  into  a  small  grove.  In  this 
grove  Jimmey  frequently  received  Delia;  and  here  their 
interviews  were  usually  brief,  but  when  they  thought  it 


86  GLENWOOD. 

would  answer  to  have  a  longer  conference,  she  passed 
through  the  grove  alone,  and  they  met  on  the  mountain. 

This  state  of  things  continued  until  she  was  nearly  eight- 
een and  he  twenty,  the  guard  more  and  more  relaxing  their 
vigilance.  At  first  their  meetings  were  exceedingly  brief, 
but  by  and  by  whole  evenings  were  spent  in  a  bewitching 
spot,  with  the  white  moonlight  shimmering  down  through 
the  tall  pines.  The  lovers  sat  and  watched  the  various 
figures  which  were  thrown  upon  the  earth,  and,  like  little 
children,  they  called  it  their  carpet  which  the  angels  had 
made  for  them.  Here  the  long  hours  stole  quickly  away, 
and  the  minutes  flew  with  the  swiftness  of  light.  Here 
were  they  happy,  for  every  moment  was  brimming  with  love 
and  tenderness. 

Alas  !  this  was  not  well,  and  woe  the  day  which  turned 
their  thoughts  thitherward !  Alas  !  that  man  should  attempt 
to  break  asunder  what  God  has  joined  !  The  circumstances 
by  which  they  were  surrounded  were  not  propitious,  and 
better  would  it  .have  been  if  the  aspect  of  the  present  had 
"  been  brighter,  and  the  future  more  hopeful.  It  was  not  well 
that  despair  should  thrust  in  his  forbidding  face.  They 
were  too  young,  loving  so  ardently,  too  impetuous,  too 
much  intoxicated  with  the  rapture  of  their  stolen  moments ! 

A  few  weeks  after  Jimmey's  birth-day,  he  took  his  light 
skiff  and  rowed  out  upon  the  lake,  with  his  angling  appa- 
ratus. He  engaged  in  the  sport  for  an  hour  or  more,  with 
unusual  success,  when  he  started  on  his  return.  A  little 
out  of  his  most  direct  way,  he  espied  an  unusually  large  lily 
floating  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  as  gracefully  as  a 
beautiful  swan,  and  he  determined  to  pluck  the  treasure  for 
Delia,  for  they  had  agreed  to  meet  that  evening.  He  rowed 


GLENWOOD.  87 

to  the  spot,  and,  while  he  was  drawing  in  one  of  his  oars,  the 
boat  floated  a  short  distance  from  the  coveted  prize,  which 
caused  him  to  grasp  for  it  so  suddenly  that  he  overturned 
the  boat.  The  accident  was  seen  from  the  shore  by  some 
men  who  had  been  watching  the  angler ;  they  knew  him  to 
be  a  good  swimmer,  and  they  did  not  doubt  that  he  would 
speedily  right  the  boat,  or  swim  to  the  shore ;  but  when  the 
boat  tipped,  he  sprang  to  save  himself,  and  plunged  head- 
long into  the  water,  and  sunk.  When  he  arose  he  seemed 
bewildered,  grasping  at  the  frail  lily-pads,  a  few  of  which 
grew  near  him ;  at  last  he  went  down,  and  rose  no  more 
until  the  breath  had  gone,  and  the  blood  was  cold  at  the 
heart.  A  boat  was  immediately  procured,  and  three  stout 
men  despatched  in  search  of  the  lost  one,  hoping  that  he 
might  be  found  before  life  was  extinct.  A  bold  swimmer 
went  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  and  found  him  clinging 
to  the  roots  of  the  lilies.  He  was  quickly  brought  on  shore, 
but  all  efforts  to  resuscitate  him  were  in  vain.  A  few  mo- 
ments before  so  full  of  vigorous,  warm,  young  life;  now  stiff, 
cold,  dead.  Alas  for  his  poor  widowed  mother !  Alas 
for  his  more  than  widowed  Delia  ! 

A  terrible  shriek  was  heard  when  the  lifeless  body  was 
carried  to  the  cottage.  The  stricken  mother  fell  fainting 
upon  the  inanimate  form  of  her  son.  When  she  revived, 
reason  was  so  terribly  shaken  that  it  never  again  fully  re- 
sumed its  throne.  And,  when  the  news  reached  Delia,  she 
did  not  speak,  no  sound  escaped  her  lips ;  her  face  was  of  a 
deathly  pallor,  and  she  stood  as  frigid  as  marble.  Even  the 
affected  Fanny  was  startled  when  she  beheld  that  icy,  palo 
face,  and  looked  at  those  dark,  horror-fixed  eyes,  which,  like 
4 


38  OLENWOOD. 

Hamlet,  when  he  saw  his  father's  ghost,  did  seem  to  gaze 


"  on  vacancy, 


And  with  the  incorporeal  air  to  hold  discourse." 

In  a  few  moments  she  sunk  almost  lifeless  into  a  chair. 
A  draught  of  water,  and  bathing  her  head,  in  a  measure 
restored  her,  and  she  went  mechanically  to  her  chamber, 
and  there  threw  herself  despairingly  upon  her  couch,  and 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillows.  0  !  how  terrible  was  the 
agony  of  that  poor  soul,  almost  crushing  out  her  life ! 

' '  What  shall  I  do  —  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  said.  "  0  ! . 
that  I  might  die !  I  cannot  live !  My  dear,  lost  one,  I 
cannot  have  it  so  !  Merciful  Father,  restore  him  to  me,  or  I 
shall  go  mad  !  It  is  all  dark  —  dark  !  He  is  dead  !  and  I 
so  desolate — no  hope,  no  light !  0 !  for  the  sleep  of  death  — 
for  the  dark  quiet  of  the  grave !  Great  God,  save  me,  0  ! 
save  me  from  myself!  " 

Poor  child  !  she  was  almost  suffocated  with  grief;  but  this 
was  her  first  great  sorrow,  and  by  and  by  tears  came  to  her 
relief,  and  the  scalding  drops  coursed  rapidly  down  her  pale 
cheeks.  That  was  a  night  of  deepest  bitterness,  and  at 
times  self-destruction  seemed  her  only  refuge.  How  much 
she  wished  that  her  own  mother  was  alive,  that  on  repentant 
knees  she  might  tell  her  all !  But  now  she  had  no  one  to 
whom  she  might  pour  out  the  burthen  of  her  heart  —  no  one 
to  whom  she  should  dare  whisper  one  word.  Poor  Delia ! 

Two  days  after  the  fatal  accident,  the  funeral  of  James 
Penly  was  attended  by  a  large  concourse  of  deeply  sympa- 
thizing friends.  The  widowed  mother  and  the  stricken  Delia 
were  the  chief  mourners.  Many  eyes  were  moistened  with 
tears  when  they  looked  into  the  white  faces  of  those  desolate 


GLENWOOD.  39 

ones.  A  brother-in-law  of  the  widow,  whose  circumstances 
had,  of  late,  greatly  improved,  took  her  to  his  home,  and  Delia 
returned  weeping  to  her  father's  house.  Widow  Penly  never 
recovered  from  the  awful  shock ;  she  lingered  along  for  a 
few  years,  and  then  cheerfully  closed  her  eyes  in  death. 
And  Delia, —  she  too  would  have  died,  but  she  resolved  to 
suffer  all  that  society,  in  its  lack  of  charity  and  Christian 
love,  could  inflict  upon  her,  rather  than  "  break  into  the 
bloody  house  of  life  "  with  her  own  hand.  God  had  given 
her  an  existence,  and  he  alone  had  a  right  to  bring  it  to  an 
end, 


CHAPTER   IV. 

OACTIOUS    WHISPERINGS. GLENWOOD    CHARITABLE   SOCIETY. THE   SIN 

NING   ONE   DRIYEN   FROM   HOME. THE   STORM. 

MR.  GREGG  suffered  some  momentary  qualms  of  conscience 
when  he  witnessed  the  heart-breaking  of  his  child.  He 
queried  whether  his  course  was  justifiable.  For  a  time  this 
worldly-minded  man  thought  there  might  be  such  a  thing  as 
love  —  a  true  union  of  souls,  a  union  in  which  selfishness 
has  no  part.  But  Delia  was  so  young  that  she  would  soon 
outgrow  this  childish  attachment ;  for  other  and  more  noble 
admirers  would  flock  around  her,  and  the  dead  would  be  for- 
gotten. She  should  gratify  his  ambition  by  marrying  a  rich 
man,  one  that  would  bring  honor  upon  his  house.  He  was 
not  glad — 0  no  ! — that  Jimmey  Penly  was  dead ;  his  tender 
conscience  would  never  allow  him  to  harbor  such  a  thought 
as  that ;  he  was  too  manly,  too  kind-hearted,  to  rejoice  that  a 
poor  widow  had  lost  her  only  son ;  but  somehow  he  congratu- 
lated himself,  whenever  he  thought  of  Delia's  future,  that 
the  young  man  who  had  caused  him  so  much  anxiety  was 
now  where  he  could  not  possibly  interfere  with  his  wise  plans. 
Poor,  foolish  man  !  the  castles  of  grandeur,  which  you  have 
built  up  with  so  much  care,  shall  be  destroyed  in  a  moment, 
and  the  hour  shall  come  when  remorse  shall  wring  your 
soul. 


GLENWOOD.  41 

s  Delia  now  seldom  left  the  house ;  in  fact,  she  remained 
the  most  of  the  time  in  her  own  chamber,  weeping  in  the 
bitterness  of  her  desolation,  and  trying  to  shut  out  from  her 
terrified  heart  the  dark  future.  By  and  by,  cautious  whis- 
perings began  to  be  heard,  and  there  were  shrewd  looks  and 
wise  shakings  of  the  head.  These  careful  and  mysterious 
proceedings  gradually  assumed  a  bolder  and  more  definite 
aspect.  Everybody  had  something  to  say,  and  nearly  all 
were  loud  in  their  censure  and  condemnation  of  poor  Delia. 
The  whole  matter  was  amply  discussed,  and  on  the  part  of 
many  with  infinite  gusto,  at  an  afternoon  session  of  the 
"  Glen  wood  Ladies'  Eleemosynary  Society." 

"  Have  you  heard  ?  "  inquired  Matilda  Blossom,  in  a  mys- 
terious whisper,  of  the  person  who  sat  next  to  her  —  Mrs. 
Betsy  Slusher,  a  woman  with  a  thin  face,  dark,  snaky  eyes, 
and  a  long,  picked  nose,  whose  tongue  ran  so  glibly  that 
some  had  "  slanderously  reported  "  that  it  was  hung  in  the 
middle,  so  that  she  talked  with  both  ends.  She  had  the  rep- 
utation of  being  a  great  scold;  and,  in  vulgar  parlance,  she 
made  husband,  children,  and  servants,  "stand  round." 

"It  is  no  news  to  me,"  she  replied,  with  a  knowing  sneer. 
"  I  knew  it  long  ago.  Did  n't  I  say  to  Mr.  Slusher  that  the 
girl  was  not  taking  on  so  for  nothing  ?  I  could  have  told 
you  all  about  it  long  since,  but  I  don't  tell  all  I  know  ! "  (?) 

"That 's  just  what  I  said  to  mother,"  chimed  in  Arabella 
Mehitable  Bumpus,  referring,  not  to  the  last  remark  of  Mrs. 
Slusher,  but  to  the  one  made  to  her  husband.  Arabella 
Mehitable  was  a  little,  pert  old  maid,  with  a  long  face,  large 
mouth,  crooked  nose,  red  hair,  low  forehead,  much  wrinkled,  « 
and  eyes  of  a  leaden  color  and  brightness. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  we  are  all  liable  to  fancy 
4* 


42  OLENWOOD. 

ourselves  as  having  been  very  knowing,  and  great  prophets, 
after  a  thing  has  transpired,"  said  Mrs.  Goose,  in  a  half- 
jesting,  sarcastic  tone.  She  was  a  plain-looking  woman, 
with  a  sensible,  benevolent  cast  of  countenance,  who  loved 
a  good  joke  and  a  bit  of  fun,  but  detested,  from  her  heart, 
slanderers  and  gossippers, —  and  in  that  heart  were  Christian 
charity  and  love  for  the  erring,  even  of  her  own  sex. 

"lam  thinking  it  will  bring  down  her  pride  a  little," 
said  the  envious  but  handsome  Miranda  Penelope. 

"We  should  not  be  too  severe  in  our  judgment,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Glubbings  ;  "  for,  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  we  all 
may  be  more  guilty  than  she."  The  last  speaker  was  the 
wife  of  Deacon  Glubbings,  and  she  and  her  husband  were 
two  of  the  most  pious  and  benevolent  people  in  town. 

"  Some  folks  are  wonderfully  virtuous,  seemingly,  if  their 
neighbors  happen  to  make  a  misstep !  I  agree  with  you,  Mrs. 
Glubbings,  that,  in  the  sight  of  God,  poor  Delia  may  be  as 
good  as  the  best  of  us, —  which  may  not  be  saying  a  great 
deal."  These  remarks  were  made  by  Hester  Walden,  a 
spinster  of  thirty,  who  had  remained  unmarried  because  the 
right  one  had  not  offered  himself,  and  she  had  not  felt  that 
it  would  be  advisable  to  offer  herself  to  the  right  one. 

"I  pronounce  such  remarks  slanderous!"  said  Mrs. 
Slusher.  "  You  and  Mrs.  Glubbings  may  put  yourselves  on 
a  level  or  beneath  such  vile  creatures, —  but  I  shall  not." 

"  I  sant  neither,"  lisped  Nannie  Pottle.  "I  dithpithe  'em, 
and  all  who  th'tand  up  for  'em, —  I  do." 

"I  like  your  spirit,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable  Bumpus, 
"and  it  is  the  only  way  to  keep  society  virtuous.  La  !  I 
wonder  what  the  world  would  come  to,  if  such  ideas  should 


ULENWOOD.  43 

prevail !"  Referring  to  the  sentiments  of  Mrs.  Glubbings 
and  Miss  Walden. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  too  much  alarmed,"  replied  Mrs. 
Goose;  "  for  I  am  sure  one  so  virtuous  as  you  are  could  not 
be  in  danger  in  any  society." 

This  quiet  but  cutting  satire  made  Arabella's  face  as  red 
as  her  hair.  I  presume  that  there  was  unity  of  thought,  just 
at  that  moment,  in  this  not  over-harmonious  assembly,  and  this 
was  the  form  of  it :  "  That  one  of  their  number  had  never 
been  tempted,  and  never  would  be;"  and  some  were  so  un- 
charitable as  to  think  that  the  highly-favored  one  really 
wished  she  might  be.  But  such  thoughts  are  scandalous. 
Why,  have  we  not  all  seen  ladies,  in  our  Charitable  and 
Benevolent  Sewing  Circles,  who  are  paragons  of  virtue  ?  and 
are  not  such  always  watching,  with  cat-like  eyes,  any  little 
deviations  or  pecadilloes  of  their  neighbors,  that  they  may 
expose  them,  and  so  nip  the  evil  in  the  bud  ?  Some  things 
are  so  self-evident,  that  to  summon  an  array  of  witnesses  is 
superfluous. 

"  Mother  thaid  that  Delia  wath  alwaith  a  th'tuck-up  thing, 
and  she  would  have  to  come  down  thome  time,  as  '  pride  mutht 
have  its  fall,'  as  the  poet  thaith,"  said  Nannie  Pottle. 

"  It  is  against  the  rules  to  talk  about  our  neighbors,"  said 
Mrs.  Glubbings. 

"  I  don't  need  any  instructions  about  the  rules  of  our 
society,  for  I  happen  to  understand  them !"  said  Mrs.  Slusher. 

"Nor  I  either,"  observed  Matilda  Blossom,  "and  I  think 
it  impertinent  to  allude  to  them  in  that  way  !  " 

"  I  geth  we  understand  our  own  ruleth,"  said  Nannie 
Pottle ;  "  and  I  think  I  obtherve  'em  as  much  as  thome  other 
folkth  do ! " 


44  GLENWOOD. 

"  There  is  a  rule,  I  believe,  in  relation  to  that  subject," 
said  Hester  Walden. 

"  No  one  disputes  it,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable;  "  but  the 
question  is,  who  are  our  neighbors  ?  " 

"A  very  important  question,"  remarked  Mrs.  Goose. 

"  Which  you  may  find  answered  in  the  New  Testament, 
by  Christ  himself,"  said  Mrs.  Glubbings. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Hester  Walden,  "  what  the  Saviour 
said  to  the  sinning  woman ;  and  a  great  sinner  she  was,  and 
the  penalty  was  stoning  to  death.  No  one  dare  insinuate 
that  Delia  Gregg  has  been  guilty  as  she.  Her  sin  is  a  mere 
peccadillo,  in  comparison  ;  and  yet  the  Saviour  said  to  the  one 
so  guilty/  '  Daughter,  neither  do  I  condemn  you ;  go  and  sin 
no  more.'  " 

/  "I  commend  his  example  in  this  case  to  the  consideration 
of  this  Charitable  Society,"  said  Mrs.  Goose.  "How 
beautifully  he  spoke  to  her  —  how  careful  not  to  wound  un- 
necessarily !  He  did  not  call  her  wanton,  as  many  would 
have  done.  He  did  not  say,  Vile  adulteress,  you  are  worthy 
of  death,  being  so  vile  that  you  are  unfit  to  live ;  but  he  called 
her  by  the  endearing  name  of  daughter,  and  told  her  to  go 
and  sin  no  more." 

•  "  I  know  of  nothing  in  the  life  of  Christ  that  more  clearly 
proves  the  divine  nature  of  his  mission,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Glubbings. 

"  And  yet,  how  small  a  number  of  those  who  profess  to 
follow  him,"  said  Hester  Walden,  "  ever  think  that  charity 
for  the  erring  is  one  of  the  Christian  virtues !  " 

"  I  thould  think  that  you  three  had  better  go  to  preach- 
ing," said  Nannie  Pottle,  "  for  you  have  given  us  thome 
pretty  thmart  lectures  !  " 


GLEN  WOOD.  45 

"  Such  lectures  as  I  don't  care  about  hearing  verj  often  !  " 
observed  Mrs.  Slusher. 

"And  such  as  I  won't  hear  very  often!  "  said  Miranda 
Penelope. 

"  Thuch  thentiments  are  very  deliteriouth  to  good  morals," 
said  Nannie  Pottle.  "  Mother  thayth  that  the  prevalenth 
of  thuch  is  the  reathon  why  thith  deplorable  cathe  hath 
occurred." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  in  the  least,"  said  Matilda  Blossom. 

"  Nor  I  either,"  remarked  Mrs.  Slusher.  "  If  everybody 
treated  them  as  they  deserve,  they  would  be  careful  how  they 
conducted  themselves ;  but  they  know  well  enough  that  there 
are  plenty,  called  respectable,  who  will  uphold  them  in  their 
deviltry." 

"That  is  rather  rough  talk,  Mrs.  Slusher,"  said  Mrs. 
Goose. 

"  No  more  so  than  the  subject  demands,"  said  Arabella 
Mehitable.  "  La  !  should  n't  we  have  a  nice  time,  if  every- 
body thought  as  some  folks  do  ?  Christ  forgave  the  woman 
because  she  had  fully  repented,  and  he  knew  that  she  would 
never  sin  again.  That  is  a  different  case  entirely.  There 
are  always  exceptions  to  a  general  rule,  and  that  was  one  of 
the  exceptions.  Mr.  Shackles  made  the  matter  perfectly 
plain,  last  winter,  in  one  of  his  evening  lectures." 

"A  very  curious  way  of  explaining  Scripture!"  said 
Hester  Walden. 

"  If  we  should  adopt  your  rule,  Arabella  Mehitable,"  said 
Mrs.  Glubbings,  "we  could  prove  or  disprove  almost  any- 
thing." 

"  Father  thayth,"  returned  Nannie,  "  that  the  Bible  is 
jutht  like  a  fiddle,  for  you  can  play  any  tune  on  it  you  like ; 


46  -GLENWOOD. 

and  that's  the  reathon  there  are  tho  many  thects;  and 
mother  alwaith  explained  that  texth  jutht  as  you  have,  Mith 
Bumputh." 

"If  we  should  give  such  latitude  as  Mr.  Shackles  and 
Miss  Bumpus  have  taken,  we  could  play  almost  any  tune, 
without  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Goose. 

"  What  we  want,"  observed  Mrs.  Glubbingg,  "  is  a  true 
interpretation  of  the  Scriptures,  and  then  we  have  harmony." 

This  discussion  continued  until  some  of  the  members  were 
very  angry,  when  a  motion  was  put  and  carried  to  adjourn, 
nearly  all  returning  home  in  an  unenviable  humor. 

A  few  days  after  this,  there  was  a  scene  at  Mr.  Gregg's 
which  was  heart-rending.  In  the  presence  of  the  family, 
from  her  own  father's  lips,  came  the  words  to  Delia  which 
she  had  long,  long  expected,  and  dreaded  more  than  death. 
She  knew  her  doom,  and  yet  those  dark  words  fell  upon  her 
ears  like  the  crushing  thunder-bolt,  freezing  her  blood,  con- 
fusing her  senses,  and  almost  stopping  the  beating  of  her 
heart.  She  fell  to  the  floor  at  the  proud  man's  feet ;  she 
embraced  his  knees,  she  implored  his  pardon  and  protection  ; 
but  he  spurned  her  from  him,  and  said  : 

"Go,  wanton,  I  disown  you  !  Leave  my  house,  and  never 
let  me  see  your  face  again  ! "  With  these  words,  he  pushed 
her  from  him,  and  walked  hastily  away.  Delia  arose,  gave 
one  wild  shriek,  and  fainted.  Restoratives  soon  brought 
her  to,  when  she  went  mechanically,  and  took  such  garments 
as  she  thought  she  could  carry,  and  tied  them  up  in  a  bun- 
dle ;  then  she  kissed  Polly  Haggett,  who  did  not  repel  her, 
and  would  have  clung,  weeping,  to  the  neck  of  brother  and 
sister,  but  their  aspect  forbade  it ;  and  so,  with  only  a  look 
—  a  look  so  heart-breaking  that  it  might  have  melted  a 
stone  —  she  left  her  father's  house  forever  !  With  a  hurried 


QLBNWOOD.  47 

step,  and  taking  a  circuitous  route,  she  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  woods  on  the  mountain  without  being  seen.  She  im- 
mediately repaired  to  the  spot  where  Jimmey  Penly  and 
she  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  and  there  she  lay  down, 
and  gave  vent  to  the  agony  which  crushed  her  heart ;  and 
there  the  poor  child,  in  the  hopelessness  of  her  despair, 
prayed  that  she  might  die  ! 

It  was  now  the  month  of  June,  and  the  scenery  in  Glen- 
wood  was  radiant  with  beauty.  Green  and  humid  was  the 
landscape,  dotted  with  flowers,  like  stars.  The  white  daisy 
and  yellow  buttercup  waved  in  the  wanton  wind,  and  the 
clover  bent  its  head  while  the  bee  extracted  the  honey.  On 
the  road-sides  was  the  sweet-brier  ia  full  bloom,  and  near 
the  buildings,  red,  white,  and  blush  roses,  pinks,  sweet-wil- 
liams, pansies,  and  syringa.  Delia  wiped  her  eyes,  and  from 
her  elevated  position  looked  down  through  the  trees  upon  the 
inviting  scene  below  ;  and  then  she  turned  and  gazed  upon 
the  beautiful  lake,  now  partly  in  shadow  and  partly  in  sun- 
light. She  looked  at  the  reflection  of  the  tall  trees  in  the 
water,  and  thought  how  often  she  had  watched  them  when  a 
child.  As  she  changed  her  position  slightly,  her  Byes  fell 
upon  some  gracefully-floating  lilies,  and  she  turned  them 
away  with  a  shudder.  In  this  place  she  remained  until  the 
crescent  moon  was  slowly  sinking  in  the  west,  thinking  of 
the  past,  its  joys,  hopes,  and  sorrows,  and  that  last  most 
terrible  blow  of  all.  She  strained  her  eyes  until  she  could 
see  the  spot  where  the  lifeless  body  was  brought  to  the  shore ; 
and  while  she  sat  shivering, —  for  she  was  cold,  although  the 
evening  was  warm, —  she  thought  that  she  must  die ;  for  she 
had  no  home,  and  no  one  to  befriend  her,  and  it  would  be 
so  blessed  to  end  her  crushing  sorrows  where  he  had  given 


48  GLENWOOD. 

up  his  buoyant,  dear  life,  and  make  the  bottom  of  the  lake 
her  silent  bed,  and  there  rest  in  peace  !  "  0  !  "  thought 
she,  "  that  his  cold  body  was  there  ;  for  it  would  be  so  sweet 
to  clasp  it  to  my  heart,  and  make  that  beautiful  lake,  and  the 
white  lilies,  where  he  was  cruelly  taken  from  me,  our  happy 
nuptial  couch  !  " 

It  was  now  past  nine  o'clock,  the  village  lights  were  ex- 
tinguished, and  the  moon  had  hid  her  beaming  face  in  a  dark 
cloud  which  lay  heavily  in  the  west.  Delia  turned  her  eyes 
to  search  for  the  lost  luminary,  which  she  had  so  often  gazed 
upon  from  that  spot  when  her  now  cold  hands  were  lovingly 
clasped  in  his ;  and  that  slumbering  cloud  appeared,  to  her 
bewildered  imagination,  like  a  vast  ocean  into  which  the 
moon  had  sunk,  and  she  fancied  that  she  saw  the  waves  mov- 
ing, and  there  were  ships  with  their  sails  all  spread  bound- 
ing over  the  swelling  billows  ;  and  she  wished  that  some 
friendly  vessel  would  bear  her  away  to  a  happier  land.  The 
sighing  breeze,  that  hitherto  seemed  gently  to  sympathize  in 
her  sorrow,  now  began  playing  wildly  among  the  tree-tops, 
calling  her  to  herself ;  and  she  saw  that  the  fancied  ocean  was 
but  a  cloud,  and  the  waves  only  the  movement  of  that  huge, 
black  mass  into  the  heavens.  And  as  the  clouds  mounted 
up  faster  and  still  higher,  the  wind  blew  with  greater  power, 
bending  those  tallest  and  stoutest  trees ;  and,  by  and  by,  it 
burst  out  into  a  prolonged  wail ;  and  when  there  was  a  calm,* 
it  seemed  to  utter  low  moans,  and  hushed  sobs  of  bitter  agony. 
Delia's  imagination  was  now  wrought  up  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  excitement,  and,  in  a  tremor,  she  arose  from  the 
earth ;  but,  whithersoever  she  turned,  there  were  dark,  fear- 
ful objects,  holding  out  their  threatening  hands. 

"I  will  go  to  him  !"  she  shrieked  ;   "you  shall  not  keep 


GLENWOOD.  49 

me  ! "  and  she  ran  swiftly  down  through  the  woods,  in  the 
wildest  affright,  bruising  her  limbs,  tearing  her  face  and 
hands,  till  the  blood  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  and  dripped 
from  her  fingers.  On  the  spot  where  they  laid  the  cold 
body  of  her  lover  she  fell  exhausted,  and  lay  for  a  time 
like  one  dead.  Recovering,  she  said,  "  I  must  end  this 
agony  and  horror  !  Father,  be  merciful ;  for  I  cannot,  must 
not  live  ! " 

She  arose,  and,  throwing  off  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  walked 
to  the  edge  of  the  lake,  and  was  about  to  take  the  fatal  leap, 
when  the  wind  swept  fiercely  down  from  the  mountain, 
whistling  round  her  head,  dishevelling  her  dew- wet  locks, 
and  she  thought  she  heard  a  voice  in  the  blast,  whispering 
"Away  !  away  !"  She  paused,  and  gazed  upon  the  spot 
where  she  supposed  her  lover  had  died,  and  once  more  she 
thought,  "  I,  too,  will  die;"  and  then  she  seemed  to  see  her- 
self far  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  pale,  stiff,  and  dead. 
The  .sight  caused  her  to  shrink  back,  while  a  cold  tremor 
shook  her  whole  frame.  And  now  a  lighter  breeze  played 
with  her  locks ;  and  that,  too,  had  a  voice  which  whispered 
"Live,  live." 

"  Live,  live  ! — Yes,  I  will  live,"  she  thought;  "  I  will  not 
be  a  suicide.  Perchance  death  will  soon  come  unbidden  to 
my  relief!"  She  now  regained  her  customary  garments, 
and,  wrapping  her  shawl  closely  around  her  shivering 
body,  she  walked  hurriedly  away.  By  this  time  the 
wind  had  increased  to  a  fierce  gale,  and  the  clouds  cov- 
ered more  than  half  of  the  heavens,  and  lay  black  and 
threatening  above  the  mountain.  As  she  walked  along,  not 
knowing  whither  to  turn  her  steps,  a  red  flash  leaped  from 
5 


50  GLENWOOD. 

the  clouds,  followed  by  a  long,  heavy  peal  of  thunder.  She 
felt  sure  that  the  rain  would  soon  come  pouring  down, —  and 
where  should  she  find  shelter  ?  Should  she  seek  her  father's 
roof,  when  he  had  told  her  never  to  let  him  see  her  face 
again  ?  Would  he  not  repel  her  with  curses  ?  And  then 
she  said  : 

"No;  come  what  will,  I  will  not  go.  He  spurned  me, 
he  —  he  called  me  wanton; — but  no — I — I  am  not  that. 
If— if  I  have  done  wrong,  I  have  suffered  for  it  a  thousand-fold. 
I  would  have  humbled  myself  into  the  dust  of  the  earth, 
and  asked  forgiveness  for  the  shame  I  have  brought  upon 
him ;  but  he  would  not  hear  me.  And  he  is  not  guiltless  ; 
he  regarded  not  our  love,  and  would  have  torn  us  asunder 

O  * 

forever.  And  we  were  made  for  each  other ;  —  would  God  that 
I,  too,  had  died  ! "  And,  some  of  her  old  pride  rising  up  in 
her  heart,  she  said  again  :  "  No  !  I  will  not  go  there  ;  rather 
let  me  die  !  And  then  my  sister ;  she  looked  so  coldly, — and 
brother  too.  0  !  could  they  not  speak  a  kind  word  to  the 
crushed  one  —  could  they  not  even  say  farewell  ?  But  no 
word,  no  kind  look,  no  tears,  for  me  !  "  Again  the  lightning 
flashed  from  the  cloud,  leaping  through  the  gathering  dark- 
ness, and  making  the  whole  heavens  wildly  bright,  followed 
by  a  crash  which  almost  struck  Delia  to  the  earth,  for  a  tall 
pine  was  shivered  and  broken,  and  fell  headlong  to  the 
ground,  making  it  tremble  beneath  her  feet.  And  now  the 
wind  blew  a  mightier  blast,  and  swept  out  a  hundred  shriek- 
ing voices  from  the  mountain,  as  though  a  troop  of  demons 
were  about  to  rush  down  upon  her  ;  and  she  fancied  that 
she  saw  the  same  objects  from  which  she  had  fled  in  terror 
a  little  while  before.  In  spite  of  the  howling  wind,  she 
pressed  on,  and,  passing  through  the.  village,  took  the  road 


GLENWOOD.  51 

that  led  to  the  widow's  cottage,  which  she  knew  stood 
empty. 

It  was  so  intensely  dark  that  she  could  not  have  kept  the 
road,  had  it  not  been  for  the  red  sheets  of  flame,  flashing 
continuously  from  the  clouds,  which  covered  the  whole 
sky.  And  these  repeated  flashes  were  followed  by  the  most 
terrible  and  crashing  thunders,  rolling  and  breaking  through 
the  heavens,  as  if  the  fierce  embattled  hosts,  as  of  old, 
were  engaged  in  a  mighty  conflict.  A  few  moments  now 
passed,  and  there  was  no  flash  of  lightning,  no  sound  of 
thunder,  and  the  wind  was  still;  and  the  poor  wanderei 
walked  slowly  and  hesitatingly,  for  the  darkness  seemed  so 
thick  as  to  be  almost  sensible  to  the  touch.  A  terrible, 
blinding  flash,  and  crashing  of  thunders,  followed  the  calm, 
as  though  the  artillery  of  the  skies  had  been  concentrated 
and  prepared  for  one  last,  mighty,  overwhelming  assault. 
Delia  was  well-nigh  paralyzed  with  horror;  but  the  rain 
poured  down  in  torrents,  and  she  hastened  on  her  way. 

When  she  reached  the  cottage,  her  garments  were  thor- 
oughly drenched.  She  tried  the  door,  and,  to  her  dismay, 
found  that  it  was  fastened.  She  then  felt  her  way  to  a  win- 
dow ;  that  was  also  fastened,  and  she  went  to  another,  which 
Beemed  to  yield  a  little.  In  her  desperation,  she  summoned 
to  her  aid  more  than  her  usual  strength ;  and  the  window 
yielded  to  it,  and  she  threw  in  her  bundle,  and  by  great  ex- 
ertions succeeded  in  climbing  in  herself,  when  she  shut  down 
the  window  to  keep  out  the  wind  and  rain.  "  How  dark  and 
dreary  it  is  here! "  she  thought.  "  If  I  only  had  a  light,  I 
would  be  so  thankful !"  She  remembered  the  dark  cup- 
board, in  which  Jirnmey  kept  matches  for  his  own  use  ;  she 
succeeded  in  finding  the  matches,  and,  to  her  great  relief,  a 


52  GLENWOOD. 

small  lamp,  which  had  been  overlooked  in  moving  the  fur- 
niture. She  was  so  wet  and  cold  that  the  next  thought  was 
to  build  a  fire,  and  she  commenced  a  search  for  the  requisite 
fuel.  She  found  a  few  bits  of  wood  and  broken  pieces  of 
furniture,  and  with  these  a  fire  was  soon  kindled,  that  dried 
her  wet  garments  and  warmed  her  shivering  limbs. 

She  was  now  conscious  of  being  very  faint,  for  the  want 
of  food ;  and,  having  taken  the  precaution  to  put  a  few  crack- 
ers in  her  bundle,  she  ate  a  part  of  them  with  a  keen  relish. 
When  her  garments  were  sufficiently  dry,  she  spread  them 
upon  the  floor,  and  laid  down  to  rest.  It  was  nearly  morn- 
ing ;  she  was  weary  with  watching,  and,  though  alone  and 
forsaken,  the  fast-falling  rain  lulled  her  to  sleep.  Poor, 
wronged  child!  the  angels  should  guard  you  now,  and  give 
you  refreshing  slumber  and  pleasant  dreams. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  FALLEN  NOT  TO  BE   FORGIVEN. HOW  SECRETS  ARE  KEPT.  —  GHOSTS 

AND    GOBLINS.  —  THE   HAUNTED    HOUSE. THE  BROKEN-HBARTED    OUT- 
CAST. 

MR.  GREGG  returned  to  his  home,  on  the  evening  after 
Delia  left  it,  feeling  very  sad ;  for  he  thought  of  her  as  the 
one  who  had  been  loved  so  dearly  in  her  wayward,  beauti- 
ful childhood  —  the  handsome,  attractive  woman,  who  was 
to  bring  him  so  much  honor,  by  a  wealthy  marriage.  But 
she  had  brought  disgrace  upon  himself  and  family,  and  he 
would  forget  her ;  she  had  disobeyed  him,  and  he  would  not 
forgive ;  she  should  no  longer  hold  a  daughter's  place  in 
his  heart ;  he  would  nevor  receive  her  again. 

After  tea,  as  the  family  were  sitting  gloomily  in  the 
room  where  they  usually  spent  their  evenings,  which  Delia's 
presence  had  often  made  attractive,  Mr.  Gregg,  in  a  solemn 
tone,  said, 

"Has  she  gone?" 

"  She  has,  the  poor  thing,"  replied  Polly. 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  such  speeches,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "  for 
by  the  words,  and  the  manner  in  which  you  have  uttered 
them,  there  is  an  implied  censure  upon  me,  for  the  part  I  have 
acted  in  this  most  deplorable  case.  That  she  is  a  poor  thing, 
I  well  know,  as  all  wantons  are;  but  I  have  done  only  what 
5* 


64  GLEN  W  0  OD 

•was  just  and  honorable  in  relation  thereto.  She  has  gone, 
you  say,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  my  house  shall  never 
shelter  creatures  like  her.  If  she  returns  I  will  drive  her 
forth  again,  and  let  her  seek  for  her  companions  those  who 
are  as  vile  as  she.  This  is  all  I  have  to —  to —  communi- 
cate upon  the  repulsive  subject." 

"But  is  she  so  very  guilty?"  remonstrated  Polly. 
' '  May  we  not  consider  it  rather  as  a  youthful  indiscretion 
faan  a  desire  to  be  vicious?  " 

"  Polly  Haggett,  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you ;  I  had  sup- 
posed you  had  more  common  sense." 

"  I  shan't  own  her  as  a  sister,  I  know !  "  said  Fanny,  with 
an  affected  toss  of  her  head;  and,  in  fact,  her  head  was  always 
on  the  move,  for  she  seemed  not  to  have  sufficient  weight  of 
brain  to  keep  it  long  in  one  position,  and  so  it  was  everlast- 
ingly on  the  toss,  like  a  cork  on  a  fisherman's  line  when  the 
water  is  stirred  by  the  wind. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  not,"  said  the  conceited  Thomas,  "for 
she  is  unworthy  to  be  the  sister  of  a  gentleman.  Father 
nas  done  just  right  to  disown  her,  and  pack  her  off. 
Would  n't  it  be  great  to  have  such  a  baggage  in  the  house! " 

"  I  would  n't  stay  here  a  single  day,  if  she  did.  A  pretty 
sister.  I  should  think  —  the  dirty  creature!"  Fanny  re- 
marked, with  an  extra  wriggle  of  her  cranium. 

"You  talk,  children,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "as  though  the 
pure  blood  of  the  Greggs  was  warm  in  your  —  your  veins. 
It  is  well,  for  —  for  notwithstanding  this  vile  business,  this 
shameful  disappointment,  I  still  have  you  to  comfort  me." 

"  I  will  never  do  aught  that  shall  cause  you  to  blush  for 
me,"  said  Thomas.  He  was  sorry  for  his  sister's  shame,  but 
his  little,  niggard  soul  found  some  consolation  in  the  thought 


GLENWOOD.  56 

that  when  his  father's  property  should  be  divided  among  his 
children,  he  would  be  a  gainer  thereby. 

"  We  will  both  seek  to  make  you  happy,  and  so  you  will 
soon  forget  the  vicious  creature,"  said  Fanny,  with  another 
toss  of  the  upper  story. 

"  I  disapprove  of  such  conduct  as  much  as  any  one  can," 
said  Polly ;  "  but  would  it  not  have  been  more  humane  and 
Christian  to  have  forgiven  Delia,  instead  of  turning  her 
into  the  street?  What  will  the  poor  child  do? " 

"  You  do  not  look  at  the  case  in  all  its  bearings,"  said 
Mr.  Gregg.  "I  hope  you  will  not  forget,  in  this  time  of 
trial,  Polly,  that  you  are  a  domestic  here.  You  need  not 
frown  or  get  angry, —  for  I  was  about  to  say,  a  favorite 
domestic,  and  solemn  duties  devolve  upon  you,  which  should 
be  faithfully  performed.  We  are  in  trouble,  and  you  must 
not  a  —  augment  it,  by  any  whimsical  notions  of  your 
own." 

"I  hope  that  my  remarks,"  said  Polly,  "have  given  no 
offence.  I  know  that  you  are  wiser  than  I  am  ;.  but,  as  I 
could  not  help  pitying  the  poor  thing,  I  thought  I  would 
speak  out  what  was  on  my  mind." 

' '  Very  well,  you  have  my  pardon.  And  I  will  have  no 
more  words  in  relation  thereto.  She  has  obeyed  me  for  once, 
and  left  the  house  she  has  so  deeply  disgraced ;  and,  hence- 
forth, let  not  her  name  be  mentioned  beneath  the  pa  — 
paternal  roof." 

During  the  fearful  storm,  that  night,  thoughts  of  the 
wanderer  would  creep  into  the  mind  of  Mr.  Gregg,  and  he 
was  benevolent  enough  to  hope  that  she  had  found  a  shelter 
from  the  wind  and  rain ;  and  he  almost  wished  that  he  had 
given  her  a  few  dollars,  to  keep  her  from  want  until  she  could 


56  GLENWOOD. 


more.  But  how  could  she  earn  more  ?  He  did  not 
know,  but  thought  that  where  there  was  a  will  there  was  a 
way  ;  and  so  he  closed  his  heart  to  the  claims  of  his  child, 
and  slept,  while  she  was  exposed  to  the  pitiless  elements. 

The  fact  that  Mr.  Gregg  had  expelled  Delia  from  hia 
home  was  well  known  in  Glenwood,  the  day  after  it  oc- 
curred. All  the  particulars  were  in  everybody's  mouth.  It 
was  a  marvel  to  him  how  the  matter  came  to  be  known  so 
soon,  for  he  cautioned  his  family  not  to  say  anything  about 
it.  In  his  very  impressive  manner,  he  said  to  them,  '  '  Hold 
no  communication  with  any  one  in  relation  thereto."  He 
told  Thomas  that  he  thought  it  might  be  Polly,  for  she  had 
shown,  he  was  sorry  to  say,  for  the  first  time,  a  little  insub- 
ordination ;  and  when  the  subject  was  most  momentous,  she 
had  questioned  his  wisdom  and  justice.  Under  such  circum 
stances,  it  would  not  be  strange  if  she  had  disobeyed  his  strict 
commands. 

Polly  most  positively  denied  the  charge;  Thomas  de- 
clared that  he  would  not  so  pollute  his  lips  as  to  speak  of 
the  subject  at  all  ;  and  Fanny  said,  of  course  she  would 
not  ;  therefore  the  wise  Mr.  Gregg  could  come  to  no  other 
conclusion  than  that  the  people  had  surmised  it,  as  Delia 
had  gone.  He  should  have  known  that  the  wriggle-headed 
Fanny  was  incapable  of  keeping  a  secret  twenty-four  hours. 
especially  if  she  was  commanded  not  to  divulge  it.  Under 
such  circumstances,  it  had  become  altogether  too  important 
for  her  weak  head  to  contain  alone,  and  so  she  must  have 
aid  ;  and,  reader,  whether  you  doubt  it  or  not,  such  aid  can 
be  found  in  every  village  and  neighborhood,  —  persons  who 
will  listen  to  the  secret,  and  promise  solemnly  never  to  re- 
veal it,  —  and  then  they  will  relate  it  to  everybody  they  see 


GLENWOOD.  57 

and  caution  them  not  to  say  anything  about  it,  for  the. 
"world ! 

When  Mr.  Gregg  enjoined  secrecy  upon  his  family  in 
relation  to  Delia,  Fanny  resolved  that  no  one  should  be  the 
wiser  because  of  her.  But  it  could  not  do  any  injury,  if 
she  did  inform  her  dear  friend,  Miranda  Penelope,  if  she 
made  her  solemnly  promise  not  to  inform  anybody  else. 

Now,  Miranda  was  a  paragon,  in  Fanny's  eyes.  She  was 
the  handsomest  and  the  most  interesting  lady  in  Glenwood. 
She  knew  that  Miranda  had  never  used  Delia  well,  but  she 
did  not  care  for  that.  The  reason  why  the  former  slighted 
the  latter  was  no  secret,  envy  alone  being  the  cause.  She 
had  no  esteem  or  friendship  for  Fanny,  but  she  patronized 
her  to  gratify  her  selfishness. 

By  nine  o'clock,  the  morning  after  ^Delia's  departure, 
notwithstanding  the  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents,  Fanny 
Gregg,  breathing  hard,  for  she  had  run  the  whole  distance, 
and  in  a  state  of  excitement  because  of  the  momentous  im- 
port of  what  she  had  to  relate,  knocked  at  the  front  door  of 
Mr.  Penelope's.  She  was  welcomed  by  Miranda,  for  she 
was  one  of  those  persons  who  want  to  be  posted  up  in  all 
things  which  concern  their  neighbors.  She  very  willingly 
promised  that  she  would  keep  the  secret,  and  then  Fanny 
informed  her  that  what  had  been  long  surmised  by  one  of 
the  family,  at  least,  had  at  last  been  found  out  for  a 
certainty ;  —  how  her  father  had  said  the  most  severe  and 
grandest  things  to  the  offender  ;  —  how  she  had  begged  him 
to  forgive  her ;  —  how  he  had  solemnly  said  that  he  never, 
never  would  ;  —  how  she  embraced  his  knees,  —  how  he 
spurned  her ; —  how  she  fainted, —  how  she  was  restored ; — 
how  she  packed  up  her  things ; —  how  she  kissed  Polly,  and 


58  GLENWOOD. 

wanted  to  kiss  her  and  brother  Thomas; — how  they  did  not 
bid  her  good-by,  but  "  stabbed  her  with  their  looks;  "  — 
how  she  had  gone,  never  to  darken  the  doors  again  ;—  how 
she,  Fanny,  had  cast  her  off  as  a  sister ; —  how  they  were 
all  so  terribly  mortified  ! 

This  precious  stuff,  and  much  more,  did  Fanny  pour  into 
the  greedy  ears  of  Miranda  Penelope,  all  the  time  pretend- 
ing to  be  very  much  grieved,  and  frequently  wiping  her 
eyes,  as  though  she  fancied  there  were  tears  in  them ;  or,  if 
there  were  not,  there  ought  to  be. 

When  Fanny  had  taken  her  departure,  Miranda  called, 
without  loss  of  time,  on  Mrs.  Betsy  Slusher,  and  intimated  to 
the  latter  worthy  that  she  had  a  secret  of  momentous  conse- 
quence. Mrs.  Betsy  Slusher  begged  that  she  would  inform 
her  what  it  was ;  and  Miranda  finally  told  her,  on  condition 
of  the  strictest  secrecy.  Mrs.  Slusher,  on  the  same  condi- 
tions, informed  Matilda  Blossom,  who  happened  in  just  after 
Miranda  happened  out ;  and  she  went  immediately  and  told 
Arabella  Mehitable  Bumpus ;  and  the  latter  told  the  lisp- 
ing Nannie  Pottle ;  and  so  the  story  went  the  rounds,  and 
everybody  wondered  how  people  could  learn  all  the  facts  so 
soon.  As  for  Miranda,  she  said  she  did  not  care  for  secrets 
which  everybody  else  knew. 

The  subject  served  as  a  nine  days'  wonder  in  Glenwood. 
Some  were  so  hard-hearted  as  to  approve  of  Mr.  Gregg's 
course,  of  which  number  Mrs.  Betsy  Slusher  was  the  most 
conspicuous ;  while  others,  more  humane,  strongly  condemned 
it.  Deacon  Glubbings  and  wife  wished  they  could  have 
knovrn  what  sort  of  a  man  Mr.  Gregg  was ;  in  which  case, 
they  would  have  invited  Delia  to  their  home  until  one  more 
suitable  could  be  provided :  and  Mrs.  Goose  said  she  would 


GLENWOOD.  59 

certainly  have  taken  her  in,  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing 
her  husband,  which  she  was  not  aware  of  ever  having  done 
as  yet.  There  were  many  others  who  would  have  willingly 
aided  the  poor,  forsaken  creature ;  but,  alas  !  there  were  too 
many  ready  to  condemn,  and  say  that  her  fate  was  just  what 
she  deserved.  Poor  Delia  ! 

The  next  Sunday  evening,  the  Rev.  Wellington  Shackles 
preached  a  sermon  to  the  young.  A  crowded  auditory  was 
in  attendance.  Arabella  Mehitable  Bumpus  remarked  to 
Mrs.  Glubbings,  on  their  way  home,  that  she  thought  the 
discourse  was  beautiful,  and  just  then  would  do  much  good. 
The  latter  said,  in  reply,  that  if  he  had  read  the  chap- 
ters concerning  the  Prodigal  Son,  and  Christ's  treatment  of 
the  sinning  woman,  it  would  have  done  more  good.  To  this 
the  latter  said  that  she  sometimes  doubted  whether  Mrs. 
Glubbings  or  her  husband  were  Christians,  they  were  so 
lenient  to  the  guilty. 

There  was  another  subject  which  caused  much  talk  in 
Glenwood  at  this  time.  A  young  man  declared  that,  pass- 
ing near  the  mountain,  about  ten  o'clock,  on  the  night  of 
the  great  storm,  he  heard  the  most  terrible  and  piercing 
shrieks  ;  and  that,  soon  after,  a  figure  in  white,  ten  feet  high, 
with  a  spot  on  its  breast  which  looked  like  blood,  came  down 
from  the  mountain,  and  walked  a  short  distance  near  the 
lake,  and  suddenly  vanished.  Jim  Blossom,  who  had  been 
to  pay  his  addresses  to  Nannie  Pottle,  said  that  when  he 
was  going  home,  at  eleven  o'clock,  he  saw  the  same  figure 
come  out  of  the  lake, —  first  seeing  only  the  top  of  the  head, 
and  afterwards  the  whole  body.  There  were  others  who  saw 
the  light  in  Widow  Penly's  cottage,  and  forthwith  there  were 
some  superstitious  enough  to  believe  that  it  was  haunted  by 


60  GLENWOOD. 

Jimmey  Penly's  ghost,  and  it  soon  became  known  by  the 
name  of  the  haunted  house  ;  and,  as  no  one  had  the  courage 
to  occupy  it  afterwards,  the  report  being  kept  up  that  lights 
were  frequently  seen  there,  and  dismal  noises  heard  at  night, 
it  stood  empty  for  five  years,  when  its  owner  had  it  taken 
down. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  when  Delia 
awoke,  and  for  some  moments  she  could  not  comprehend 
her  situation ;  but  she  soon  collected  her  scattered  senses, 
and  then  she  remembered  all ;  —  the  terrible  scene  of  yester- 
day,— the  horrors  of  last  night, —  the  dreadful  realities  of 
the  present.  She  attempted  to  rise,  but  she  found  that  her 
limbs  were  stiff  and  sore,  and  she  felt  cold  and  weak ;  and  so 
she  lay  down  her  head,  and  wept  bitterly.  At  length,  with 
much  exertion,  she  regained  her  feet,  and  kindled  up  the 
fire ;  and,  after  becoming  warm,  the  rain  still  pouring  down, 
and  no  one  in  sight,  she  went  to  the  well  and  drank  a 
refreshing  draught  from  the  "  old  oaken  bucket."  Return- 
ing to  the  cottage,  she  made  a  frugal  meal  on  the  crackers 
that  remained. 

In  the  afternoon,  she  began  to  query  what  she  should  do 
for  food.  Many  kinds  of  vegetables  were  growing  in  the 
garden,  but  none  of  them  had  come  to  sufficient  maturity 
to  be  of  any  service  to  her.  Searching  in  the  attic,  she 
espied  a  bunch  of  pop-corn,  hanging  on  a  nail.  With  a 
thankful  heart,  she  quickly  took  it  down,  and,  knowing 
that  it  had  been  raised  by  Jimmey,  and  gathered  and  placed 
there  by  him,  she  kissed  it  again  and  again,  while  the  tears 
fell  fast  from  her  eyes.  The  remainder  of  the  afternoon 
and  evening  she  employed  in  popping  the  corn,  which  was 
now  her  only  food. 


GLEN  WOOD.  61 

It  continued  to  rain  until  nearly  night  the  next  day. 
When  the  sun  was  about  an  hour  high,  the  wind  suddenly 
veered  round  to  the  north,  quickly  sweeping  the  clouds  from 
the  blue  heavens,  and  leaving  the  sun,  in  all  its  matchless 
glory,  slowly  sinking  in  the  west. 

The  cottage  stood  upon  an  elevated  spot,  and  from  the 
west  window,  on  such  an  evening  as  this,  a  grand  and  beauti- 
ful panorama  was  spread  out  before  the  eye.  On  one  side 
could  be  seen  a  portion  of  the  pretty  lake,  with  the  long 
bhadows  of  the  trees  thrown  into  it  from  the  mountain,  form- 
ing, as  the  children  said,  a  bridge,  which  the  fairies  walked 
over  by  moonlight,  not  a  shadow  bending  beneath  their  feet. 
The  mountain  was  plainly  in  view ;  and  the  rays,  striking 
the  branches  of  the  pines,  made  them  look  bright  as  bur- 
nished gold,  so  that  one  might  think  that  the  king  of  the 
giants  was  reviewing  his  troops,  and  they  were  decorated 
with  their  tallest  and  costliest  plumes,  that  they  might  do 
honor  to  the  occasion.  On  beyond  these,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  the  undulating  surface  was  interspersed  with 
green  fields,  strips  of  waving  corn,  rye,  and  wheat,  flourish- 
ing orchards  of  peaches  and  apples,  gardens  filled  with  a 
variety  of  beautiful  roses  and  pinks,  hill-sides  of  clover,  now 
in  full  bloom,  constituting  one  vast  bed  of  flowers,  and,  far, 
far  aAvay  where  the  sun  was  setting,  a  high  mountain  look- 
ing very  blue  in  spite  of  the  golden  rays  of  the  departing 
day. 

Delia  sat  by  this  window,  and  gazed  with  a  sad  heart  upon 
this  grand  picture  painted  by  the  hand  of  nature.  Often 
had  she  sat  there  before,  when  one  whom  she  dearly  loved 
had  been  near  her,  ever  ready  to  point  out  new  varieties  of 
scenery  for  her  to  admire.  As  she  strained  her  eyea  to 
6 


62  GLENWOOD. 

catch  all  the  beauties  of  the  scene,  her  thoughts  wandered 
back  painfully,  and  she  remembered  how  happy  she  was 
with  him  —  how  full  of  hope  was  her  heart  —  how  impossible 
it  would  have  seemed  then  that  such  should  ever  be  her  lot. 
And,  as  her  mind  thus  went  back  into  the  shadowy  past  and 
came  down  to  the  dark  present,  she  fancied  it  must  be  all  a 
dream,  and  that  she  should  wake  soon  and  throw  off  this 
night-mare  of  horror.  But  this  illusion  was  only  momentary, 
for  she  knew  that  it  was  all  too  terribly  real  —  that  it  was 
no  dream.  She  cast  her  tearful  eyes  around  the  naked 
room,  and  she  remembered  how  often  she  had  thought,  since 
her  father  had  forbidden  her  ever  to  see  Jimmey  more,  that 
ghe  was  willing  to  live  in  that  little  cottage,  with  the  humblest 
fare,  and  the  rooms  plainly  furnished,  if  she  could  only  be 
with  him. 

"  0,  darling !  "  she  said,  "  I  did  so  love  you  !  0  !  cruel 
death,  to  snatch  him  away  so  soon,  and  —  and  leave  his  Delia 
a  poor  cast-away  —  driven  with  scorn  from  her  home  —  a 
mock,  a  by-word,  and  the  jeer  of  the  heartless  !  I  cannot 
have  it  so  —  I  cannot  bear  all  this  !  Moneyless  and  friend- 
less !  —  where,  where  shall  I  go  ?  0  !  ye  envious  lilies,  that 
lured  him  to  your  embrace  !  Was  he  so  beautiful,  so  sweet/  ye 
must  take  him  from  me  ?  I  did  love  him,  and  he  was  my 
own ;  and  ye,  cruel  flowers,  tempted  him,  and  gave  him  the 
embrace  of  death.  How  can  I  stay  in  this  dreary  place 
another  night,  where  the  ghosts  of  old  scenes,  sorrows,  and 
joys,  come  back  to  make  me  wretched  ?  How  can  I  remain 
alone,  when  the  gloom  and  the  silence  so  fill  my  soul  with 
dread !  O  my  God !  grant  thy  sinful  child  thy  aid,  and 
comfort  her  in  this  her  hour  of  sorrow  ! 

"  0  !  my  father,  have  you  never  sinned,  that  you  should 


GLENW'OOD.  6S 

thus  cast  off  your  child  ?     And  I  —  have  no  mother  —  no 

—  no  sister  nor  brother  to  help  me  —  to  speak  a  kind  word, 

—  no  friend  to  aid  me  !  " 

While  the  poor  child  was  giving  utterance  to  these  words 
of  woe,  she  had  fallen  upon  her  knees,  and,  bending  her  head 
to  the  floor,  rested  her  face  upon  her  hands,  and  through  her 
fingers  poured  the  hot  tears.  When  she  had  uttered  the 
last  of  the  above  words,  she  lifted  up  her  head  and  said, 

"  These  foolish  tears,  they  avail  not  —  they  cannot  help 
me  !  Back,  back  !  I  will  dry  these  eyes,  which  have  become 
like  rain-clouds  ;  and  then  I  will  think,  not  of  the  past,  for 
that  will  not  return,  but  of  the  future  —  the  future  so  dark  ! 
But  I  will  nerve  myself  to  meet  it  all  as  woman  should,  God 
helping  me." 

The  sun  was  now  receding  from  view,  and  part  of  the 
scene,  which  had  been  all  sunshine,  was  now  in  shadow.  The 
rain-drops, 

"  Sweet  tears  the  clouds  lean  down  and  give," 

were  shining  on  all  the  trees,  and  glittered,  pearl-like,  on 
every  shrub  and  bush.  Delia,  as  sorrowful  as  she  was, 
could  not  shut  out  the  enchantment  of  the  scene  and  the  hour ; 
and  some  of  her  old  feelings  came  back  to  her  heart,  to  kin- 
dle up  its  enthusiasm,  and  let  in  a  ray  of  light.  She  arose 
from  her  knees  and  stepped  to  the  door,  and,  scanning  the 
roads  and  fields  in  every  direction,  went  to  the  well  and 
bathed  her  head  and  face,  and  then  returned  to  the  cottage, 
to  try  and  form  some  plan  for  the  future. 

After  the  town  clock  had  struck  nine,  having  no  incli- 
nation to  sleep,  and  feeling  so  utterly  lonely  in  the  dark, 
she  wandered  back  to  her  old  home,  and  stood  and  looked 


64  GLENWOOD. 

sorrowfully  at  that  part  of  the  house  which  contained  he* 
own  chamber.  She  then  went  into  the  garden,  and  sat  by 
the  little  bed  of  flowers  she  had  cultivated  so  many  years. 
She  visited,  in  succession,  each  spot  she  had  loved;  and,  in  spite 
of  all  she  could  do,  the  tears  would  come  when  she  thought 
this  was  her  last  farewell.  She  now  turned  her  steps  to  the 
lake,  and  rested  a  while  upon  its  banks,  bathing  her  aching 
head  in  its  waters.  She  looked  up  to  the  mountain,  and 
wished  to  go  there  to  take  a  last  farewell ;  but  she  thought 
of  the  objects  of  dread  which  she  fancied  she  saw  on  the 
night  of  the  storm,  and  she  could  not  summon  sufficient 
courage  to  venture  there  again.  She  went  to  other  places 
in  the  village  which  were  dear  to  her,  and  visited  even  the 
grave  of  her  mother,  where  she  knelt  and  prayed  ;  and  then, 
as  the  moon  was  fast  sinking,  she  walked  back  to  the  cottage 
Being  hungry  now,  she  ate  of  the  corn,  and  lay  down  to  rest. 
Early  the  ensuing  morning,  long  before  the  sun  was  up,  she 
commenced  her  journey. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DEACON  CLUBBINGS   AND  WIFE.  —  SELLING  THE   SUPPORT   OF  PAUPERS.—* 
POLLY   HAGGETT   STILL   SEEKING    FOR    THE   PRIZE. 

A  FEW  days  after  these  events  had  transpired,  Deacon 
Glubbings  went  to  his  home  with  a  countenance  less  serene  and 
hopeful  than  it  was  wont  to  be.  His  faithful  wife  soon  no- 
ticed the  unhappy  expression,  and,  from  sympathy  more  than 
curiosity,  she  wished  to  know  the  cause. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said,  "that  many  professed 
Christians,  in  good  standing,  have  but  little  humanity.  There 
is  Delia  Gregg  —  we  ought  to  have  searched  for  her  until 
found,  and  taken  the  poor  child  home  ;  for  she  is  not  half  so 
much  to  blame  as  her  father  —  he  was  the  cause  of  all  the 
difficulty.  No  matter  if  Jimmey  Penly  was  poor ;  he  was  a 
good  boy,  and  ever  faithful  to  his  mother.  It  was  but  a 
youthful  indiscretion  of  which  they  were  guilty  ;  but,  like 
many  indiscretions,  it  has  brought  a  long  train  of  evils.  I 
hope  it  will  serve  as  a  warning  to  others ;  but  it  is  too  bad 
that  the  least  guilty  should  suffer  so  much.  I  can't  bear  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Gregg  now  —  he  is  unworthy  to  bear  the  name 
of  father." 

"  You  speak  warmly,"  replied  his  wife,  "  but  I  do  not 
blame  you.     I,  too,  wish  that  Delia  was  here." 
6* 


66  GLENWOOD. 

"  I  have  heard  another  thing  to-day,  which  has  tried  my 
patience  almost  as  much  as  that." 

"What  is  it,  pray?" 

"  Mr.  Bumford,  whom  we  all  thought  one  of  the  bright 
and  shining  lights  in  the  world,  has  refused  any  longer  to 
maintain  his  half-witted  sister,  and  the  town  has  taken 
charge  of  her." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?" 

"I  wish  it  was  not;  for  such  things  try  my  faith,  and 
my  patience,  too." 

"  You  should  not  lose  your  faith  in  humanity,  or  Chris- 
tianity, because  Mr.  Bumford  has  done  wrong ;  for  you 
know  of  many  who  would  work  the  flesh  off  of  their  bones, 
rather  than  be  guilty  of  an  act  so  execrable." 

"  That  is  all  true  enough ;  but  just  think  how  pious  Mr. 
Bumford  is.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  he  was  over- 
devotional.  Not  a  meal  does  he  eat  without  saying  grace 
before  and  after ;  and  he  reads  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  twice 
every  day,  and  on  his  bended  knees  addresses  the  throne  of 
grace.  He  is  never  absent  at  the  conference  and  church 
meetings ;  and  he  has  more  to  say,  and  offers  more  prayers, 
than  anybody  else." 

"  But  you  don't  think  him  a  hypocrite,  do  you  ?  " 

"No;  but  he  has  not  the  truest  idea  of  religion;  he 
evidently  lives  in  the  present  only  to  make  sure  of  the 
future." 

"  That  is  too  often  the  case ;  but  Jesus  has  taught  us,  by 
his  example,  that  we  should  deal  justly  with  all  —  not  only 
love  God,  but  our  neighbor  also." 

"Very  true.  Now,  Mr.  Bumford  has  many  good  quali- 
ties :  he  is  very  accommodating,  and  careful  not  to  offend 


GLENWOOD.  67 

his  neighbors.  But,  in  allowing  his  sister  to  be  maintained 
by  the  town,  her  support  sold  to  the  lowest  bidder,  he  has 
placed  himself  on  a  level  with  the  swearing,  atheistical  Mr 
Pendwick,  who  kept  his  brother  as  long  as  he  was  able  to 
work,  and  then  sent  to  the  selectmen  to  '  come  and  take  the 
pauper,'  for  he  could  not  support  him  any  longer." 

"  And  they  were  able  to  take  care  of  them  ?  " 

"Able!  yes;  as  much  so  as  almost  anybody  in  town. 
Pendwick  is  wealthy,  and  Mr.  Bumford  has  the  best  farm 
in  the  county,  and  money  at  interest." 

"  I  have  heard  that  this  sister,  Margaret  Bumford,  was  a 
great  trial  to  his  wife." 

"It  might  have  been  so,  but  that  is  no  excuse;  for  he 
could  have  paid  her  board,  or  given  up  one  room  to  her  use 
in  his  large  house,  or  built  her  a  little  cottage,  where  sho 
could  have  lived  by  herself,  providing  such  work  for  her  as 
she  is  fitted  for.  The  girl  is  not  averse  to  labor,  if  praised 
and  treated  kindly ;  many  things  she  does  as  well  as  any 
body,  and  she  is  by  no  means  a  fool." 

"  What  have  the  selectmen  done  with  her  ?  " 

"  They  have  engaged  Mr.  Slusher  to  keep  her  till  next 
town-meeting,  for  fifty  cents  a  week;  and  then,  in  the 
presence  of  her  Christian  brother,  her  support  will  be  sold ; 
and  he  who  offers  to  take  her  for  the  smallest  sum  per  week 
will  be  her  lord  and  master  for  one  year.  As  a  general 
thing,  the  meanest  men  in  town  take  charge  of  the  paupers, 
for  they  underbid  others,  because  they  can  afford  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  very  little  Christianity  or 
humanity  in  thus  disposing  of  the  poor." 

"  Seems !  I  know  there  is  not.  At  the  South,  the  slave 
is  put  up  at  auction,  and  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  In  our 


68  QLENWOOD. 

town,  we  put  up  the  pauper,  and  he  who  names  the  smallest 
sum  —  no  matter  what  his  reputation  may  be  —  is  the 
successful  bidder ;  and  the  pauper  must  accept  the  home 
which  he  provides,  or  none." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  poor-house,  some  time ;  for  such 
things  are  scandalous." 

"  I  hope  so,  too ;  but  the  latter  is  often  bad  enough ;  pre- 
ferable, however,  to  our  present  system." 

When  the  day  came  for  the  transaction  of  the  town  busi- 
ness, there  was  a  scene  which  we  hope,  for  the  sake  of 
humanity,  may  never  be  witnessed  in  New  England  again.* 
After  the  selectmen  had  been  chosen,  and  other  affairs 
arranged,  notice  was  given  that  the  paupers  would  now  be 
disposed  of  for  the  ensuing  year.  Mr.  Blossom,  who  was  a 
sheriff,  and  also  an  auctioneer,  mounted  upon  one  of  the 
pew-seats,  the  meeting  being  held  in  the  old  church. 

"  Gentlemen,  give  me  your  attention,  and  let  there  be 
perfect  order.  The  support  of  the  town's  poor  will  now  be 
sold,  which  will  close  up  the  business  of  the  day ;  and  then 
all  who  have  not  eaten  up  their  gingerbread  can  carry  it 
home  to  wife  and  children."  (A  laugh.) 

' '  I  shall  put  up  Peggy  Lawson  first.  Gentlemen,  you 
all  know  who  she  is,  for  she  is  not  a  new  comer.  Peggy  is 
a  clever  crittur,  gentlemen,  and  very  good  for  work,  al- 
though getting  somewhat  old ;  can  be  fed  and  clothed  with 
little  cost.  She  '  wants  but  little  here  below,  nor  wants 


*  Since  the  above  was  written,  the  author  has  learned,  with  regret,  that 
there  is  a  TOWN  in  MASSACHUSETTS  which  has  sold  its  poor-house,  and  re- 
turned to  the  barbarous  practice  of  selling  the  support  of  the  paupers  to 
the  lowest  bidder. 


GLENWOOD.  69 

that  little  long,'  as  the  poet  says.  Now,  what  is  the  bid? 
what  is  the  sum  you  require,  per  week,  for  supporting  her 
one  year  ?  " 

"  Seventy-five  cents." 

"  Seventy-five,  seventy-five, —  who  says  less?" 

"  Seventy."  —  "  Sixty-five." 

"  Sixty-  five  is  the  bid,  gentlemen ;  it  is  too  much  —  al- 
together too  much  !  Who  says  sixty  ?  Fifty-five,  now  ! 
Well  done  !  Will  any  one  take  her  for  a  less  sum  ?  Fifty, 
fifty,  did  I  hear  it  ?  Going  at  fifty,  fifty ;  —  gone  to  Mr. 
Bumpus, —  a  good  bargain." 

Johnny  Pendwick  was  next  knocked  off,  at  one  dollai 
a  week  ;  a  number  of  others  followed,  and  then  it  was  Mar- 
garet Bumford's  turn. 

"  We  have  one  more,"  said  Mr.  Blossom ;  "  sorry  to  say 
it.  She  is  a  new  comer,  and  the  most  valuable  article  in 
the  lot, —  Margaret  Bumford,  a  strong,  hearty  young  woman, 
of  good  disposition,  in  perfect  health,  and  willing  to  work. 
£  am  told  that  she  will  eat  very  hearty ;  but  she  will  work 
enough  to  make  it  all  right ;  dig  as  many  potatoes,  and  pitch 
on  a  load  of  hay  as  quick,  as  any  man  in  town.  To  a  large 
farmer  she  is  invaluable ;  for  she  will  milk  all  your  cows, 
churn  all  your  butter,  and  do  the  washing  for  twenty,  and 
not  sweat  a  drop.  And"  (winking  to  Mr.  Gregg)  "she 
comes  from  one  of  the  most  respectable  and  pious  families 
in  town.  Now,  what  is  the  bid? " 

"Fifty  cents,'" said  Mr.  Slusher. 

"  That 's  the  price  the  selectmen  have  paid  you,  you  old 
rat !  But  you  will  never  get  it  again  ;  too  much,  altogether 
too  much, — who  says  less  ?  Forty-five  is  the  bid ;  forty, — 
going  at  forty;  thirty-five,  thirty-five, —  are  you  all  done? 


70  GLENWOOD. 

Thirty,  thirty,  thirty, —  who  says  less  than  thirty  ?  I  can't 
dwell,  gentlemen ;  shall  I  hear  a  smaller  sum  named  ?  Gone, 
at  thirty  cents  a  week,  to  Mr.  Slusher, —  the  best  bargain 
yet ;  "  and  so  closed  the  town-meeting. 

One  or  two  of  the  paupers  fell  into  decently  good  hands, 
this  year ;  but  the  majority,  as  usual,  were  doomed  to  live 
and  labor  for  the  most  mean  and  niggardly.  Margaret  was 
excessively  angry  when  she  learned  that  she  was  bid  off  by 
Slusher  ;  and,  as  she  was  saucy  the  next  day,  the  medicinal 
qualities  of  an  outward  application  of  birch  were  tried,  Mrs. 
Slusher  acting  as  physician,  and  her  husband  holding  the 
patient  during  the  painful  operation.  A  report  of  the  same 
was  soon  noised  abroad,  causing  much  talk  and  genuine 
indignation.  Deacon  Glubbings  went  to  the  selectmen,  and 
demanded  that  Margaret  should  be  taken  from  Slusher's 
immediately ;  but  they  said,  in  reply,  that  he  held  her  by 
contract  with  the  town  for  one  year.  Mr.  Blossom 
was  heard  to  say  that  it  was  good  enough  for  the  wench, 
and  Mr.  Gregg  said  that  it  was  the  only  way  to  deal  with  a 
certain  class  of  paupers.  Margaret  was  ugly,  or  she  never 
would  have  been  on  the  town  at  all ;  and  now  she  must  take 
the  consequences  of  her  own  folly. 

That  Margaret  was  unjustly  dealt  with,  was  but  too  evi- 
dent. She  was  kept  constantly  at  work,  fed  with  the  mean- 
est food,  and  clothed  with  the  coarsest  fabrics.  -  She  some- 
times thought  seriously  of  seeking  deliverance  from  her 
oppressors  by  flight ;  but  the  poor  creature  was  so  ignorant 
that  she  knew  not  where  to  go.  She  once  made  the  attempt 
to  escape,  and  followed  the  road  two  miles,  when  she  turned 
into  another,  and,  to  her  surprise,  came  out  near  her  broth- 
er's house,  who  took  her  back  to  Mr.  S1  usher 'a,  turning  a 


GLENWOOD.  71 

deaf  ear  to  her  grievous  complaints.  For  this  act  of  in- 
subordination, she  was  sent  supperless  to  bed,  and  allowed  only 
a  crust  for  her  breakfast  the  next  morning.  During  the 
forenoon,  she  went  on  an  errand  to  one  of  the  neighbors,  and 
on  her  way  called  upon  Mrs.  Glubbings.  She  complained 
bitterly  to  the  latter  of  the  usage  she  received,  declaring  that 
she  was  starving.  The  "gude  woman"  placed  before  her 
the  most  substantial  food,  and  she  did  it  ample  justice.  She 
asked  her  to  call,  on  her  return ;  and  she  then  gave  her  a  loaf 
of  wheat  bread,  a  lot  of  dough-nuts,  and  a  large  piece  of 
cheese,  advising  her  to  put  them  in  some  safe  place  for  a 
time  of  need,  and  when  suffering  for  food  be  sure  and  come 
to  her. 

Polly  Haggett,  not  disheartened  by  the  slight  progress 
she  had  made,  still  continued  to  play,  from  Cupid's  battery, 
upon  the  flinty  heart  of  Mr.  Gregg.  She  sought  diligently 
to  please  him  in  all  things,  thinking  no  thoughts  and  cher- 
ishing no  opinions  which  did  not  coincide  with  his.  She 
kept  the  house  in  good  order,  for  Mr.  Gregg  liked  to  see 
taste  and  neatness.  She  had  always  been  particular  as  to 
her  wardrobe,  and  now  she  was  as  prim  as  one  could  desiie. 
When  Thomas  and  Fanny  were  absent,  as  was  frequently 
the  case,  Mr.  Gregg  and  Polly  spent  their  evenings  together ; 
and  then  all  of  her  former  blandishments,  that  would  come, 
were  summoned  to  her  aid,  that  she  might  bring  him  to  her 
feet  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  all  in  vain,  however.  He 
was  pleased  with  her  as  a  housekeeper,  and  there  his  admi- 
ration stopped  short,  without  the  least  probability  of  its  ever 
making  another  step  in  advance.  If  she  had  been  rich,  or  of 
family,  he  would  have  married  her,  for  he  had  come  to  re- 
gard her  as  a  little  more  than  ordinary ; —  she  knew  a  woman's 


72  QLENWOOD. 

place  —  very  few  women  did  —  she  appreciated  him  —  re- 
garding him  with  a  feeling  almost  amounting  to  adoration. 
He  had  impressed  her  with  the  depth  of  his  wisdom,  and 
made  her  feel  that  his  assumed  dignity  was  awfully  real. 
She  did  just  what  a  woman  should  —  consulted  his  ease  and 
comfort  in  all  things,  regardless  of  her  own,  and  was  willing 
to  spend  and  be  spent  for  him.  It  was  true  that  he  had 
sometimes  thought  her  a  little  silly  and  vain ;  but,  then,  in 
his  eyes,  all  women  were  —  Mrs.  Gregg  was,  and  Polly  was 
no  worse  than  others. 

Polly,  however,  was  by  no  means  hopeless,  for  Mr.  Gregg 
would  yet  see  what  was  for  his  best  good.  He  was  too  wise 
to  always  stand  in  his  own  light.  His  deportment  in  her 
presence  showed  more  consideration  now  than  formerly  ;  and 
sometimes,  though  but  seldom,  he  called  her  Miss  Haggett,  — 
and  that  signified  much. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    WANDERKR.  —  LODGING     IN    A    BARN. THE     LITTLE    WTMANS. 

DELICIOUS   REPAST. 

THE  light  was  just  glimmering  in  the  east  when  Delia 
commenced  her  journey.  She  started  thus  early  that  she 
might  not  be  seen  by  the  people  of  the  village ;  for  she  seemed 
instinctively  to  shrink  from  all  who  knew  her.  The  daily 
stage  had  gone,  on  the  afternoon  she  left  her  home ;  and,  if  it 
had  not,  it  would  have  made  no  difference,  for  she  lacked  the 
courage  to  go  to  the  hotel,  and,  in  the  presence  of  many  of 
her  acquaintances,  take  her  departure  from  there.  She 
preferred  that  none  should  know  whither  she  went,  or  in  what 
manner  she  left  Glenwood.  At  first  she  walked  slowly,  for 
her  limbs  ached  from  the  effect  of  sleeping  upon  the  bare 
floor ;  accustomed  from  childhood  to  a  downy  bed,  and  so 
suddenly  changed  to  a  hard  board,  it  made  them  stiff  and 
painful.  But  she  was  young,  and  still  strong  and  healthy, 
in  spite  of  her  troubles ;  and  the  air  was  so  fresh  and  invigo- 
rating that  the  stiffness  and  pain  soon  departed,  and  she 
quickened  her  steps,  walking  so  briskly  that,  when  the  sun 
rose,  she  was  nearly  four  miles  from  Glenwood,  more  than  a 
mile  from  any  family  with  whom  she  was  acquainted,  and 
just  on  the  borders  of  a  neighboring  town.  She  now  felt  so 
fatigued,  that,  seeing  a  flat  stone,  under  a  maple-tree, 
7 


74  GLENWOOD. 

in  a  field  not  far  from  the  road,  she  went  to  it  and  sat  down 
to  rest. 

It  was  a  delightful  morning,  and,  after  the  copious  rain, 
all  nature  seemed  refreshed,  and  supremely  happy  in  its  re- 
newed and  more  beautiful  life.  The  birds  were  on  the  wing, 
or  singing  merrily  in  the  trees  ;  and  the  soft  hum  of  the  bee 
was  heard  as  he  gathered  honey  from  the  heart  of  the  dewy 
flowers,  while  armies  of  butterflies  fluttered  through  the  bland 
summer  air,  in  seeming  ecstasies  of  delight.  The  sun  came  up 
grandly,  kindling  a  million  bright  eyes  upon  the  dewy  earth ; 
but  they  were  soon  put  out  by  the  heat  and  brightness  of  his 
own  effulgent  rays.  Delia  remembered  how  dearly  she  had 
loved  such  a  morning  as  this,  and  she  vainly  wished  that  the 
present  with  its  bitter  reality  could  pass  away,  that  she  might 
return  to  more  blessed  days,  and  so,  on  this  God-given  morn- 
ing, enter  into  the  fulness  of  its  joy.  But  she  well  knew 
that  this  could  not  be ;  and  so  she  nerved  her  aching  heart 
to  meet  bravely  whatever  the  present  or  the  future  might  have 
in  store  for  her. 

She  now  reflected  upon  the  course  she  had  better  pursue. 
She  well  knew  that  the  farmers  and  travellers  would  soon 
be  passing  along  the  highway,  and  perhaps  some  of  her  own 
townsmen;  and  then  the  hills,  valleys,  and  woods,  looked  so 
inviting,  in  their  fresh,  young  beauty,  and  the  grass  felt  so 
soft  to  her  aching  feet,  she  concluded  to  avoid  the  road,  and 
continue  her  unknown  journey  over  the  fields  and  through 
the  groves,  as  she  might  think  best. 

After  resting  for  half  an  hour,  and  feeling  much  refreshed, 
she  arose  and  bathed  her  head  in  some  water  which  lay  among 
the  roots  of  the  tree  under  which  she  sat,  and  then  went  on, 
WDt  knowing  where  her  wandering  steps  would  lead  her 


GLENWOOD.  76 

When  another  hour  had  passed,  she  sat  down,  and,  being  very 
faint,  ate  the  remainder  of  the  corn.  She  thought,  poor 
child  !  how  sweet  and  refreshing  it  was  —  more  delicious  to 
her  taste  than  the  most  dainty  morsel  she  had  ever  taken 
within  her  lips.  And  when  it  was  all  gone,  she  wondered 
where  she  should  obtain  food.  She  had  a  little  money,  but 
she  did  not  like  to  part  with  that ;  and  yet  she  felt  that  she 
must. 

She  now  continued  on  her  lonely  way,  avoiding  every 
house,  and  shrinking  from  every  eye.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
she  was  so  faint  that  she  felt  she  could  go  no  further,  and 
with  streaming  eyes  she  sank  down  to  the  ground  in  despair. 
But  this  would  not  do,  and  she  raised  her  weary  head  and 
gazed  around  her.  A  short  distance  away,  she  saw  upon  the 
south  side  of  a  hill  what  appeared  to  be  wild  strawberry- 
vines  ;  and  so,  summoning  all  her  remaining  strength,  she 
slowly  dragged  her  weary- limbs  to  the  spot,  where  she  found 
the  whole  hill-side  covered  with  the  delicious  fruit.  She 
sat  down  and  ate  at  her  leisure,  frequently  allowing  her- 
self for  a  time  to  forget  her  sorrows,  and,  with  the  strange 
delight  of  her  early  childhood,  entering  into  and  receiving 
the  sweet  influences  which  nature,  bounteous  mother,  had  so 
lavishly  scattered  around. 

The  stern  reality  soon  returned,  and  then  she  noticed  that 
the  sun  was  fast  receding  from  view.  She  made  haste  to 
reach  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  anxiously  looked  to  see  if  there 
were  any  farm-houses  in  sight ;  but  not  one  could  she  discern. 
This  was  truly  disheartening,  for  she  was  too  weary  to  go 
much  further.  About  one  fourth  of  a  mile  from  where  she 
stood,  she  beheld  a  small  barn,  which  seemed  to  have  strayed 
away  from  home  into  the  fields,  like  herself. 


76  ULENWOOD. 

"  How  lonely  it  looks  !  "  she  thought.  "  I  will  be  its  com- 
panion to-night,  for  it  will  not  shut  its  doors  against  me." 

When  she  reached  the  building,  she  found  that  one  of  the 
scaffolds  was  nearly  full  of  hay;  and  she  climbed  to  the  top 
of  it,  and  there  made  herself  a  bed,  feeling  grateful  for  so 
luxurious  a  couch.  While  she  was  lying  there,  wishing 
that  sleep  might  come  and  bring  the  rest  she  so  much  re- 
quired, reflections  like  these  passed  through  her  mind : 
"When  will  my  wanderings  end?  which  way  shall  I  direct 
my  steps  to-morrow  ?  what  shall  I  do  for  food  ?  who  will 
give  me  a  home?  will  it  not  all  end  in  death?"  She 
thought  of  the  latter  for  some  time,  and  it  seemed  to  be  dis- 
armed of  its  terrors ;  and  she  felt  that  she  could  resignedly 
give  up  her  life,  under  some  sheltering  tree  in  the  green 
fields,  and  go  to  him.  The  soft  grass  should  be  her  couch  ; 
the  summer  winds  cool  her  hot  brow ;  the  bees  soothe  her 
to  sleep,  even  that  which  should  have  no  waking ;  and  the 
birds  chant  her  funeral  hymn. 

These  thoughts  soothed  her  aching  heart,  and  she  soon  fell 
into  delicious  repose.  Long,  very  long,  did  she  sleep ;  and, 
while  her  senses  were  closed  to  the  outward  world,  she  went 
back  to  the  days  of  her  early  childhood,  and  she  was  rest- 
ing upon  the  soft  bosom  of  her  mother,  happy  as  a  blessed 
angel.  As  she  lay  looking  up  to  her  sad,  quiet  face,  she 
wondered  why  she  had  never  seen  that  dear  one  before, 
when  her  heart  had  so  yearned  for  such  beautiful  love. 
Then,  again,  she  was  walking  with  him  who  was  dearer  than 
all, —  walking  on  the  mountain  side,  the  full  moon  looking 
down  through  the  trees  smilingly  upon  them.  0  joy  !  his 
arni  was  around  her,  his  lips  were  pressed  to  hers !  The 
scene  was  now  changed,  fearfully  changed.  A  terrible 


GLENWOOD.  77 

night,  a  night  of  darkness  and  despair,  had  settled  down 
upon  her ;  the  heavens  were  so  black,  the  moon  looked  like  * 
blood,  and  all  the  eyes  of  the  stars  were  put  out.  And  he 
was  lost  —  lost !  Bitterly  did  she  moan  in  her  sleep,  while 
the  shadows  grew  more  intense  in  their  gloom.  But  a  gleam 
of  hope  cheered  her  heart,  for  she  thought  "  it  is  the  dark- 
est just  before  the  day."  And  now  the  shadows  were  pass- 
ing away,  the  light  was  dawning  in  the  east,  and  soon  all 
the  clouds  were  dispersed,  the  sun  came  up  in  new  glory, 
and  a  heavenly  morning  was  ushered  in,  and  a  being  so 
beautiful  was  coming  from  afar  ;  she  strained  her  eyes  that 
she  might  satisfy  her  bounding  heart.  Swiftly  he  came  — 
nearer  and  yet  nearer  —  it  is  he  !  He  is  not  lost,  not  dead  ! 
—  and  she  was  clasped  wildly  in  the  arms  of  her  lover,  his 
heart  beating  against  her  own.  In  this  ecstasy  of  love  and 
bliss,  she  awoke. 

When  she  had  succeeded  in  disentangling  her  mind  from 
the  silken  threads  of  her  dream,  so  that  she  realized  that 
she  was  no  longer  in  dream-land,  with  its  light  and  dark- 
ness, she  exclaimed, 

"  0  cruel,  cruel  dream,  to  so  deceive  me  !  Why  did  I 
wake  so  soon  ?  ' '  And  then,  as  though  a  happier  thought 
had  struck  her,  she  said,  "  My  bright  young  hopes  have  all 
ended  in  darkness  and  despair.  The  present,  the  future,  is 
all  dark,  but  the  morning  will  come  !  " 

As  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  pouring  in  through  the 
chinks  of  the  barn,  she  thought  how  long  she  had  slept, 
and  that  it  was  time  she  had  resumed  her  pilgrim- 
age. Down  the  ladder  she  went  with  trembling  steps, 
and,  looking  a  kind  adieu  to  the  place  which  had  sheltered 
her  so  well,  she  continued  on  her  way  with  a  comparatively 
7* 


78  GLKNWOOD. 

light  heart.  She  found  now  and  then  a  strawberry,  and  she 
quenched  her  thirst  from  the  clear  streams. which  she  passed, 
and  found  rest  when  weary  under  some  friendly  tree  ;  and 
thus  she  went  on  for  many  hours. 

About  noon,  she  came  in  sight  of  a  pretty  village,  com- 
posed mainly  of  one  beautiful  street,  with  large  elm  and 
maple  trees  on  both  sides  of  the  way.  A  little  distance 
from  it,  she  sat  down,  and  thought  whether  she  should  go 
there  and  seek  for  food,  or  take  a  circuitous  route  in  the 
fields,  and  pass  by  it.  She  chose  the  former,  resolving  to 
call  at  a  store  and  purchase  a  few  crackers,  she  was  so  hun- 
gry. But,  when  fairly  in  the  village,  people  looked  at  her 
so  strangely  that  her  heart  failed  her,  and  so  she  passed  on 
through  it  without  stopping  at  all.  Not  far  from  the  vil- 
lage was  a  schoolhouse,  and  bright-eyed  children  were  play- 
ing around  it.  When  she  went  by  them,  some  were  fright- 
ened, and  others  disposed  to  mock.  "  And  can  I  so  have 
changed,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  children  are  afraid  of 
me,  or  think  me  an  object  for  ridicule?"  She  slowly 
dragged  her  weary  limbs  along,  until  she  came  to  three 
beautiful  little  children,  two  sisters  and  a  brother,  who  had 
spread  a  clean  napkin  upon  the  grass,  and  were  covering  it 
with  apple-pie,  doughnuts,  sandwiches,  cheese,  and  the  whit- 
est wheaten  bread,  well  spread  with  the  yellowest,  sweetest 
butter.  Never  did  food  look  so  inviting,  so  delicious,  before. 
How  she  wished  that  it  was  all  her  own,  or  that  she  had 
enough  to  satisfy  her  craving  hunger  ! 

She  sat  down  a  little  way  off,  and  looked  on,  while  the 
tidy,  bright  little  things  tastefully  arranged  their  tempting 
meal.  A  whisper  from  the  smallest  one  of  the  trio  —  a  blue- 
eyed,  red-lipped,  dimpled-cheeked  child  —  caused  them  all  to 


GLENWOOD.  79 

glance  at  the  stranger.  They  did  not  seem  frightened,  they 
did  not  laugh ;  but  they  soon  turned  their  eyes  away,  and 
gazed  meaningly  into  each  other's  faces.  The  smallest  one 
now  approached  her,  and,  looking  up,  with  a  sweet,  dimpled, 
smile,  said, 

"Igeth  you  are  hundry,  an't  you  ?  " 

11  Yes,  dear." 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  was ;  so  you  must  turn  and  tate 
dinner  with  us." 

"Bless  you,  bless  you,  dear  child  !"  said  Delia,  bursting 
into  tears;  "  I  will  not  rob  you  of  your  dinner  ;  but  I  will 
buy  some  of  you,  if  you  will  sell  it  to  me." 

"  0  no  !  no  !  no  !  "  they  all  exclaimed  at  once,  "  papa 
and  mamma  would  be  very  much  grieved  if  we  should  do 
so.  We  '11  give  it  all  to  you,  for  you  look  so  very  faint. '; 
And  seeing  that  she  was  weeping,  the  oldest  one,  a  pleas- 
ant girl  of  nine  years,  said, 

"  Don't  weep,  please;  for  we  are  very  glad  to  have  you 
for  our  guest  to-day.  We  have  got  plenty,  and  it  is  so 
good !  " 

"  Mamma  allus  mates  dood  thinds,"  said  the  little  one. 

Delia  went  and  sat  down  with  those  sweet  little  creatures, 
and,  telling  them  that  they  must  eat,  too,  partook  of  one  of 
the  most  delicious  meals  that  had  ever  fallen  to  her  lot. 

"  I  have  a  nice,  bright  dipper  here,"  said  the  boy,  a  little 
hazel-eyed  Cupid,  "and  I  will  go  to  the  spring,  and  get  you 
such  sweet,  cold  water !  " 

"So  do,  Franky,"  said  the  oldest ;  "and,  Jeannie,  you 
stay  here,  while  I  run  and  fetch  that  basket  of  nice  straw- 
berries which  we  gathered  this  morning  and  hid  under  the 
bushes." 


80  GLENWOOD. 

"  Yeth,  Flora ;  and  I  '11  be  her  little  tumpany,  as  mamma 
thonietimes  tells  me  when  she  has  nobody  in  the  house  but 
just  I." 

"What  is  your  other  name,  besides  Jeannie  ?"  asked 
Delia. 

"  My  name  an't  Jeannie  at  all,  only  they  call  me  so. 
Flora  says  it 's  my  pet  name.  My  own  name  is  Maria  Jean- 
nette." 

"  Well,  your  other  name,  I  mean." 

"  T'  other  name  is  Wyman." 

"  Thank  you,  you  dear  little  angel !  I  shall  never  forget  it. 
Will  you  come  and  kiss  me,  Jeannie  ?  "  and  she  opened  her 
arms,  and  the  latter  sprang  into  them,  and  clung  lovingly  to 
her  neck,  covering  her  face  with  kisses. 

0  !  how  much  of  peace  this  brought  to  the  aching  heart 
of  the  wanderer  !  "  All  do  not  turn  away,"  she  thought; 
"  these  beautiful  children  speak  kindly  to  me,  give  me  food, 
and  this  little  angel-one  loves  me." 

Jeannie  put  one  arm  around  Delia's  neck,  and  laid  her 
head  upon  her  bosom,  and  looked  pityingly,  but  with  the 
sweetest  confidence,  into  the  face  which  was  bending  affec- 
tionately over  her.  Closely  the  wanderer  pressed  that  little 
one  to  her  heart ;  fondly  she  imprinted  kisses  upon  her 
cherry-red  lips.  A  strange  feeling  of  tender  maternal  love 
and  joy  stole  over  her,  and  for  a  time  all  was  peace.  Ah  ! 
could  she  have  looked  into  the  unknown  future,  closer  would 
she  have  pressed  that  little  one,  dearer  that  loving  em- 
brace !  But  Franky  returned  with  the  water ;  and,  soon 
after,  Flora  with  the  delicious  strawberries,  which  were 
quickly  devoured.  A  portion  of  the  dinner  was  left,  and 
they  begged  Delia  to  accept  it.  She  could  not  refuse,  and, 


GLENWOOD.  81 

kissing  them  all,  and  bidding  them  good-by,  she  continued 
her  journey,  her  heart  filled  with  gratitude  to  those  kind 
little  ones.  Looking  back  and  beholding  them  walking  tow- 
ards the  schoolhouse,  hand  in  hand,  in  all  their  innocence, 
purity,  and  youthful  beauty,  she  involuntarily  dropped  upon 
her  knees,  and  breathed  a  prayer  for  their  protection,  bless 
edness,  and  peace. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  WOODS. FINDS   SHELTER. MOLL  HADLET. ROBBERY. 

A  NIGHT    OF    HORROR. THE  KIND-HEARTED  CHILDREN  AGAIN. THEIR 

HOME. THE   OUTCAST    IS   WELCOMED. 

UP  to  this  time,  Delia  had  walked  nearly  all  the  way  in 
the  fields,  but  she  now  concluded  to  keep  the  road.  She 
was  tired  and  foot-aore,  and  yet  on  she  went,  with  no  hope 
that  her  weary  journey  would  end,  except  with  the  grave. 
At  sunset  she  found  that  the  road  she  had  followed  ex- 
tended no  further,  and  so  she  took  to  the  fields  again.  She 
soon  came  to  a  piece  of  woodland,  but,  attempting  to  pass 
through  it,  lost  her  way,  and  became  so  bewildered  that  she 
went  repeatedly  over  the  same  ground.  When  it  was  quite 
dark,  she  sat  down  and  cried,  as  though  all  hope  had  departed. 
But,  after  the  moon  had  risen,  she  collected  her  scattered 
senses,  and  then  decided  which  course  would  lead  out  of  the 
woods  She  was  not  mistaken,  for  she  soon  came  to  a  pas- 
ture, which,  by  moonlight,  seemed  to  have  no  bounds,  except 
the  woods  at  her  back.  She  had  not  gone  far  before  she 
saw  a  light,  and  ere  long  she  came  to  a  little  hut  or  cottage, 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  pasture.  She  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  to  the  question  "who  was  there,"  replied  that  she 
was  a  poor  woman,  who  had  lost  her  way.  The  door  was 
cautiously  opened,  and  Delia  thankfully  accepted  the  invi- 


GLENWOOD.  83 

tation  to  enter,  and  spend  the  night.  She  found  herself  in 
a  little,  dirty  room,  scant  of  furniture,  whose  sole  occupant, 
except  a  cat,  was  an  old  woman,  very  wrinkled  and  gray, 
with  a  sinister  and  repulsive  look. 

"  S'pose  ye  took  the  wrong  road,  an'  'tempted  to  come 
'cross  through  the  woods,"  she  said,  in  a  dry,  cracked  voice. 
"Folks  is  done  it  many  a  time,  an'  got  lost  in  them,  when 
they  'd  come  here  for  me  to  p'int  out  the  way.  It 's  too  late 
for  ye  to  find  it,  to-night ;  but  ye  can  stay  here,  if  you  '11 
sleep  on  the  floor,  for  I  've  got  no  bed  for  ye;  and  I  can't  gin 
ye  nothin'  to  eat,  for  I  han't  'nough  for  myself." 

"  I  have  some  food  which  I  brought  with  me,  and  that 
will  be  all  that  I  shall  require  to-night,"  said  Delia. 

"  It 's  well  ye  bringed  it,"  replied  the  old  woman,  "  for  I 
'spect  you  '11  give  me  some  of  it,  for  lettin'  ye  stay  here." 

"  0,  yes,"  she  replied,  looking  at  her  hostess  with  much 
terror. 

"Don't  ye  be  afeared  on  me,  for  I  never  hurts  nobody. 
I  live  here  all  alone,  and  sometimes  I  'm  half  famished.  I  '11 
only  eat  half,  an'  ye  '11  get  more  when  ye  get  home  to- 
morrow." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  highway  ?  " 

"A  good  half-mile.  Did  ye  get  lost  in  them  ere 
woods?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Awful  place  for  gettin'  lost,  them  woods  is.  A  gal  like 
you  got  lost  there  once,  an'  when  they  found  her  there  was 
nothin'  but  her  skileton  left."  Delia  shuddered.  "  I  were 
lost  there  once  myself,  a  good  many  years  ago — a  good  many 
years  ago.  I  went  wanderin'  about  for  a  whole  day  an' 
night,  e'en-a-most  scart  to  death.  Did  n't  know  as  much  as 


84  GLENWOOD. 

I  do  now,  though ! "  and  the  old  crone  chuckled  at  the 
thought,  while  the  expression  of  her  face  was  so  hideous  that 
Delia  instinctively  drew  away  from  her. 

"  I  tell  ye  not  to  be  afeared.  I  used  to  be  jest  so  skittish 
once,"— -chuckling  again.  "I  've  got  bravely  over  it  — 
bravely  over  it;  an'  so  will  you,  when  you've  had  my  'speri- 
ence.  I  was  n't  allus  what  you  see  me.  Once  I  was  young 
an'  fair,  like  ye,  with  jest  sich  raven  locks,  and  sad,  dark 
eyes.  Do  I  look  like  it  now?  Tell  me  the  truth,  gal! " — • 
with  another  chuckle. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  I  know  I  don't, —  so  't  's  well  ye  telled  the  truth.  Ye 
can  scarcely  think  that  this  hideous,  old,  wrinkled  face  was 
ever  so  fair  as  yourn;  but  it  was  —  it  was.  An'  once,  gal,  it 
was  as  pale,  as  pale,  for  many  a  day.  These  old  eyes  have 
begun  to  grow  dim  a  little,  but  they  are  purty  good  yet ;  but 
the  time  was  when  they  was  as  bright  and  black  as  yours. 
I  'm  old  — I  'm  old  !  "  —chuckling. 

"How  old  are  you?"  inquired  Delia,  who  thought  she 
must  say  something. 

"  Seventy-five.  I  've  lived  a  good  many  years  — years  of 
woe  !  an'  I  hate  my  fellur-critturs  for  't —  I  do I  do  !  " 

"I  pity  you,"  said  Delia,  weeping. 

4 '  Who  wants  your  pity  ?  "  she  said,  very  fiercely.  < '  Look 
to  yourself,  wench ;  you  need  it  more  'n  I  do.  Pity  !  pity  ! 
I  were  told  that  long  ago;  but  they  lied,  curse  them  !  I 
know  them  well ;  I  know  what  it 's  worth  !  "  and  she  chuckled 
again,  most  hideously. 

Delia  tried  to  speak,  but  she  was  so  terrified  that  she 
could  not. 

"  Look  to  yourself,jwench !  "  the  old  crone  continued,  «  for 


GLENWOOD.  85 

you  need  the  pity,  not  I.  Don't  I  know  ?  Have  n't  I  been 
through  it  all?  But  I  swore  revenge  —  revenge,  an'  I  've 
had  it !  You  pity  me,  white-face!  Well,  well ! "  chuckling 
again,  "  I  should  have  done  just  so,  when  I  were  like  you. 
I  will  not  hurt  you,  gal,  but  I  tate  ye  all !  I  tell  ye  I  was 
once  as  beautiful  as  you,  with  jest  sich  raven  locks,  an' 
purty  eyes  an'  lips ;  but  a  villin  won  my  love,  an'  betrayed 
me.  Then  I  found  what  pity  was.  My  family  cast  me  off, 
disowned  me.  They  told  me — curse  them !  —  that  they  pit- 
ied, while  they  drove  me  away.  Wench ! "  (and  she  took  hold 
of  Delia's  shoulder,  with  her  bony  hand,  with  a  grip  that 
caused  her  great  pain)  "  if  ye  say  that  word  pity  to  me  agin, 
I  '11  have  your  heart's  blood  !  I  '11  have  none  of  it — none  of 
it !  Pity>  do  you?  —  look  to  yourself !  I  was  treated  by  the 
world  as  I  was  by  my  own  family,"  loosening  her  grip  and 
chuckling,  "  an'  they  pitied,  too,  I  s'pose ;  but  I  've  had  my 
revenge — my  revenge !  I ' ve  preyed  upon  my  feller-critturs 
this  many  a  year ;  an'  noj  you  know  why.  When  they 
made  me  a  cast-away,  my  young  heart  was  full  of  love  an' 
tenderness,  as  the  spring  flowers  of  beauty.  I  had  broken 
over  the  rules  of  society,  I  know,  but  I  was  a  thousand  times 
purer  then  than  many  of  those  who  scorned  me ;  yes,  yes, 
for  I  had  n't  an  evil  thought  in  my  heart.  0,  horror  !  how  I 
have  changed  !  — But  they  are  to  blame — they  are  to  blame ! 
"In  my  terrible  desolation,  when  driven  from  my  home, 
I  went  to  an  old  friend,  one  whom  I  loved  so  well  that  I 
would  have  died  to  save  her  from  a  fate  like  mine.  I  fell 
on  my  knees  before  her ;  I  confessed  that  I  had  fallen ;  I 
told  her  that  my  parents  had  cast  me  off.  What  did  she  say, 
think  you,  wench?  Look  to  yourself — look  to  yourself! 
She  sail  she  pitied  me.  Fool !  fool !  I  thought  she  meant 
8 


86  GJ,ENWOOD. 

it,  an'  I  begged  her,  in  my  extremity,  to  aid  me.  What  did 
that  dear  friend  do  ?  She  told  me,  to  my  face,  that  I  was 
too  vile  to  associate  with  respectable  people  —  that  I  must 
not  expect  help  from  her;  an'  so  I  went  broken-hearted  away. 
She  pitied  me,  an'  she  was  too  pure  to  aid  her  fallen  friend ! 
An'  yet,  0  !  I  choke  to  think  on  't,  she  married  him,  the 
villin,  the  wretch,  the  monster,  the  devil,  who  won  my  love, 
an'  betrayed  me  '  There  was  her  purity,  an'  that  was  her 
pity!  —  But  I  have  had  my  revenge — my  revenge  !  "  and 
the  old  hag  arose  and  walked  the  floor,  swaying  to  and  fro, 
in  a  fearful  paroxysm  of  rage  and  passion,  muttering  and 
chuckling,  "A  darkened  household  —  a  daughter's  shame  — 
son's  villiny  —  revenge  —  revenge  !  " 

Delia  had  long  since  covered  up  her  face  to  shut  out  the 
awful  sight ;  and,  if  she  had  not  been  paralyzed  with  fear,  and 
could  have  opened  the  door,  she  would  have  arisen  and  fled, 
it  was  so  fearful  to  be  shut  up  there  with  such  a  terrible 
being.  When  the  old  woman  ^iad  become  more  calm,  she 
saw  the  state  her  guest  was  in,  and  sought  to  revive  her 
courage. 

"  Shaking,  are  ye  ?  I  '11  not  hurt  ye,  gal.  I  've  made  'em 
shake  'fore  now  !  But  you  are  a  poor  thing,  so  don't  fear. 
Don't  pity  me,  that  's  all,  an'  I  '11  not  hurt  a  hair  on  your 
head.  I  have  power  yet — power  yet!" — chuckling. 
"  This  talk  has  made  me  hungry.  Put  your  vittals  on  my 
table,  an'  we  '11  eat." 

Delia  obeyed,  and  her  hostess  made  a  strong  cup  of  tea, 
and  they  sat  down  to  supper.  The  food  was  quickly  des- 
patched, though  Delia  ate  but  little. 

After  supper,  the  wanderer  lay  down  upon  the  floor, 
taking  her  bundle  for  a  pillow.  She  did  not  sleep  for  somo 


CLENWOOD.  87 

hours,  for  three  times  the  old  woman  came  close  to  her,  and 
once  she  put  out  her  hand,  as  though  about  to  search  her 
pockets.  Delia  knew,  by  the  sinister  expression  of  her 
skinny  face,  that  her  intentions  were  evil,  and  so  the  sleepy 
god  was  frightened  away.  If  she  had  been  alone,  she  would 
have  quickly  fallen  asleep,  though  the  hard  floor  was  her 
couch.  She  felt  that  she  would  not  say  pity  again  to  this 
poor  old  creature,  for  the  world ;  but  in  her  heart  she  felt 
it  deeply.  "  Could  it  be,"  she  thought,  "  that  she  was  ever 
as  pure  and  beautiful  as  she  had  said  ?  Once  a  lovely  girl, 
but  now  a  wretched,  wicked  old  hag,  body  and  soul  repel- 
lent to  everything  innocent,  lovely,  and  good?  What  a 
mighty,  lamentable  change  !  And  my  condition  is  so  similar 
to  what  hers  was  once,  that  I  shudder  to  think  that  I  may 
become  what  she  is  now."  She  felt  that  she  would  rather 
end  her  life  by  her  own  hand,  than  live  to  sink  so  low  in 
vice  and  crime.  "0,  heavenly  Father,"  she  prayed,  "  save 
me  from  a  fate  so  deplorable  !  May  my  heart  be  kept  free 
from  all  bitterness,  and  be  pure,  and  warm,  and  forgiving! 
Thy  erring,  suffering  child  would  look  to  thee  for  aid,  for 
deliverance.  0,  forsake  me  not !  Send  the  spirits  of  the 
good  to  guide  and  teach  me  the  way  of  holiness! " 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  old  creature  went  to  bed, 
and  soon  after  her  breathing  indicated  that  she  was  in  a  deep 
slumber ;  and  then  Delia  also  slept. 

The  occupant  of  this  cottage  was  known  by  the  name  of 
Moll  Hadley.  She  obtained  the  means  of  subsistence  by 
cultivating  a  small  patch  of  ground  near  her  home,  fortune- 
telling,  begging,  and  stealing. 

The  day  had  dawned  when  Delia  awoke,  and,  as  Moll  was 
still  asleep,  she  deemed  it  best  to  takejher  departure  without 


88  GLENWOOD 

awaking  her.  She  had  not  inquired  what  course  she  should 
pursue,  and  it  took  her  a  long  time  to  reach  the  highway; 
but  it  was  gained  at  last,  and  now  her  courage  revived,  for 
it  must  lead  to  some  house,  where  she  hoped  that  she  might 
be  suffered  to  remain  until  able  to  continue  her  journey. 
Her  journey  !  Poor  thing  !  why  should  she  continue  it, 
when  only  death  could  bring  it  to  an  end  ? 

As  the  grass  was  no  longer  wet  with  the  dew  of  last  night, 
and  the  sun  was  very  warm,  she  turned  back  a  few  steps, 
and,  seeking  the  shade  of  a  large  apple-tree,  lay  down  and 
fell  into  a  deep  slumber.  Soon  after,  the  old  hag,  Moll 
Hadley,  came  along,  and,  seeing  the  stranger  asleep,  who 
had  left  her  cottage  so  unceremoniously,  stole  noiselessly  to 
her,  and  took  from  her  pocket  what  money  it  contained,  and, 
carefully  removing  her  bundle  from  under  her  head,  ran 
swiftly  away,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Great  was  the  consternation  of  Delia,  who  soon  awoke, 
when  she  found  that  the  bundle  which  contained  her  rai- 
ment was  gone.  She  wondered  if  she  left  it  at  Moll  Had- 
ley's  cottage.  But  that  could  not  be,  for  she  knew  that  her 
head  had  rested  upon  it  when  she  fell  asleep.  Instinctively 
she  felt  in  her  pocket,  and  then  she  knew  that  she  had  been 
robbed. 

"  0  !  this  is  too  much,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  take  all  I  had  ! 
What  shall  I  do  now  ?  There  is  one  thing  that  I  can  do, 
thank  heaven  !  —  die  !  " 

More  dark  than  ever  now  seemed  her  way,  but  still  she 
felt  impelled  to  go  on.  Unembarrassed  by  her  bundle,  yet 
was  her  heart  too  heavy  for  her  to  make  rapid  progress. 
Her  fate  now  seemed  fearful,  indeed,  and  hope  died  within 
her  bosom.  She  was  sometimes  tempted  to  go  into  the 


GLENWOOD.  89 

fields,  far  from  the  highway,  and  there  lie  down  and  wait 
for  death  to  come  and  end  her  woes.  Ah  !  when  would  it 
come  ?  How  long  delay  ?  To  lie  there  days  and  nights, 
waiting,  longing  for  death,  would  be  too  horrible  !  Would 
it  be  right  to  cease  all  efforts  ?  Could  she  feel  justified  in 
yielding  up  her  life,  unless  she  had  made  the  most  strenu- 
ous efforts  to  save  it  ? 

No,  no ;  she  would  still  struggle  on,  and,  though  the  pres- 
ent was  so  hopeless,  and  the  future  held  out  no  other  re- 
lief than  death,  yet  would  she  do  all  in  her  power  to  pre- 
serve the  life  that  God  had  given.  At  length  she  came  to 
a  house,  and  galled,  wishing  that  she  might  rest  a  while  ;  but 
the  woman,  being  alone,  was  so  frightened,  and  seemed  so 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  her,  that  she  did  not  remain  long. 
Just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  she  stopped  at  another  dwelling, 
and,  to  her  request  that  she  might  be  permitted  to  pass  the 
night  there,  was  told  that  they  had  no  accommodations  for 
such  as  she  —  stragglers  must  look  out  for  themselves. 
Faint  and  sick,  she  left  the  inhospitable  roof,  and  slowly  „ 
went  onward.  It  soon  became  quite  dark,  and,  as  she  could 
see  no  light  ahead,  the  poor  creature  relinquished  all  hope 
of  finding  a  place  of  refuge  until  another  day.  She  left 
the  road  and  went  into  the  fields ;  and,  seeing  a  miniature 
grove,  in  her  wretchedness  and  desolation,  she  there  resolved 
to  spend  the  night. 

It  was  very  warm,  and  ere  long  the  mosquitoes  began  to 
sting  her ;  so  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face,  and  there  the 
outcast,  with  hunger  gnawing  at  her  vitals,  her  limbs  ach- 
ing, her  head  painful,  her  bosom  hopeless,  waited  for  the 
morning,  often  falling  asleep,  but  waking  in  terror  to  find 
the  reality  more  awful  than  the  dream.  Never  was  the 
8* 


90  ftLENWOOD. 

day-dawn  more  welcome,  for  night's  shadowy  horrors  fled 
before  the  light.  She  sought  to  rise  and  go  onward,  but 
she  was  so  weak  that  she  laid  down  her  head  in  despair. 
Sleep  again  stole  upon  her,  a  sleep  sweet  and  refreshing, 
which  lasted  until  ten  o'clock.  She  was  much  astonished 
when  she  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  how  high  the  sun  was. 
She  lay  and  reflected  a  while  as  to  what  she  should  do. 
Food  she  must  have.  But  where  could  she  obtain  it  ?  She 
felt  that  she  could  not  beg  from  those  who  might  treat  her 
rudely ;  but  how  else  could  she  obtain  those  things  which 
were  now  indispensable  to  her  existence  ? 

It  was  some  moments  before  she  could  gain  an  erect  posi- 
tion, and  then  she  moved  with  difficulty.  Continued  exer- 
tion relaxed  the  stiffened  cords,  and  renewed  her  strength ; 
but,  knowing  that  it  would  hold  out  but  a  brief  period,  she 
resolved  to  improve  it  to  the  best  advantage.  She  passed 
two  dwellings,  wanting  courage  to  call  at  either  ;  at  a  third 
she  was  about  to  seek  admittance,  but,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  mistress'  face,  which  at  that  moment  appeared  at  the 
window  with  an  unpitying,  repelling  expression,  she  turned 
quickly  and  walked  away.  The  road  now  seemed  familiar, 
and  ere  long  she  came  in  sight  of  the  school-house,  and 
the  village  on  beyond. 

"  All  this  for  nothing  !  "  she  said,  despairingly ;  "  these 
days  of  weariness,  hunger,  and  pain,  and  nights  of  woe  ! 
Alas !  what  will  become  of  me  ?  Will  no  one  pity  me  ? 
I  am  a  poor,  lost  child  —  I  know  not  what  to  do  !  Can  I 
lie  out  in  the  fields  another  night,  to  be  haunted  by  such 
ghostly  horrors  ?  I  have  no  father  now,  no  brother,  no 
sister,  and  —  and  he  is  dead  !  Does  he  pity  his  Delia  —  his 
lost,  broken-hearted  Delia  ?  All  my  friends  are  lost,  and 


GLENWOOD.  91 

I  —  I  am  in  despair.  Will  death  come  soon  and  relieve  me 
of  my  woes  ?  0  !  then  I  shall  go  to  him,  and  my  wander- 
ings will  be  ended.  But  it  is  so  terrible  to  die  fainting  for 
food  —  sick  —  houseless  —  alone  !  " 

At  this  moment,  a  gleam  of  hope  shot  into  her  aching 
heart,  and  caused  a  smile  to  light  up  her  face.  She  thought 
of  the  three  little  friends  who  shared  their  dinner  with 
her  two  days  before,  and  deliverance  might  come  through 
them. 

"I  will  wait,"  she  said,  "and  those  dear  angels  may 
come  again.  0 !  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  the  sweet  creat- 
ures —  to  see  kind  looks  once  more,  and  hear  their  artless, 
loving  words,  the  darlings  !  I  hope  they  will  come,  for  their 
smiles  would  warm  this  icy  heart." 

On  the  Tery  spot  where  she  took  that  delicious  repast 
she  sat  down,  and  eagerly  waited  their  coming.  In  a  brief 
time,  the  noisy  children  came  pouring  out,  happy  as  birds 
to  regain  their  freedom  once  more.  The  little  Wymans 
soon  espied  their  friend,  and  hastened  to  her,  manifesting 
much  joy  that  she  had  come  back  again.  She  had  not 
wept  for  many  hours,  but  now  the  fount  was  unsealed,  and 
the  tears  fell  like  rain.  Those  dear  children  expressed  the 
greatest  anxiety  and  sympathy  for  her,  because  she  looked 
so  ill. 

"You  look  sick  enough  to  be  abed,"  said  Flora.  "I 
thought  you  were  all  beat  out,  day  before  yesterday ;  but 
you  look  as  though  you  could  scarcely  hold  up  your  head 
now.  I  know  where  there  is  a  pretty  tree,  beautiful  and 
shady,  and  under  it  the  grass  is  so  thick  and  soft,  thatjt  's 
just  as  good  as  a  couch ;  and  you  must  go  there  and  lie 
down  and  rest  until  after  school  is  done,  and  then  go  home 


92  GLENWOOD. 

with  us,  and  we  '11  give  you  such  a  nice  bed  in  a  cosey  room, 
and  take  such  good  care  of  you,  that  you  will  soon  be  all  well 
and  strong.  I  am  sure  you  need  to  be  taken  care  of,  and 
have  some  herb-tea  and  gruel.  Mother  makes  the  nicest 
gruel  you  ever  did  eat." 

"  Pa  and  ma  were  very  sorry  that  we  did  not  invite  you 
home  with  us,  when  we  saw  you  before,"  said  Franky. 

"  And  they  were  so  dlad  that  we  dave  you  some  dinner  ! 
and  ma  said  that  if  we  had  invited  you  home,  she  would 
have  diven  you  thome  dood,  warm  supper,"  said  Jeannie. 

"  Heaven  bless  her !  "  exclaimed  Delia. 

"  And  father  said  that  he  wished  you  had  come,"  returned 
Flora;  "  for  he  said  you  must  be  a  poor,  forsaken  one,  and 
he  was  fearful  that  you  had  no  home  to  go  to.  You  will 
go  home  with  us,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Your  home  must  be  very  happy,"  replied  Delia,  weep- 
ing, ' '  and  I  should  like  to  go  there,  if  I  could  stay  to-night, 
and  rest  me,  I  am  so  very  weary,  but  — " 

"  Please,  don't  cry,"  said  Flora,  the  tears  moistening  her 
own  eyes,  "  for  you  make  me  feel  real  bad.  You  must  go 
with  us ;  and  you  shall  stay  more  than  one  night  —  a  whole 
week,  and  let  mother  make  you  all  well  again." 

"  I  have  no  money  now,  and  I  could  not  make  the  small- 
est recompense,"  said  Delia;  "and  I  have  no  wardrobe,  ex- 
cepting what  I  have  on.  0  !  I — I  am  so  destitute, — so  for- 
saken!" 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  tlothes  you  had  day  be- 
fore yesterday?"  inquired  Jeannie. 

"-I  was  so  weary,"  she  replied,  "  that  I  lay  down  in  a 
field,  and  I  soon  went  to  sleep  ;  and  some  one  came  and  took 
my  bundle,  and  all  my  money,  leaving  me  in  despair.  You 


GLENWOOD.  93 

say  that  I  look  ill.  I  fear  that  I  shall  be  sick  for  many 
days  or  weeks,  causing  much  trouble  and  expense, —  and  I 
have  nothing.  I  am  not  well,  I  know  —  my  head  feels 
strangely  to-day  !  0  !  I  would  so  —  so  like  to  —  go  home 
with  you  ;  but  your  parents  do  not  know  what  a  poor, 
wretched  creature  I  —  I  am.  0  !  it  would  be  so  —  so  blessed 
to  lay  this  aching  head  upon  a  soft  pillow  once  more,  and 
rest !  Then  I  could  die  ;  but  they  would  not  receive  the 
lost  one  into  such  a  home  as  theirs." 

"You  must  not  think  so,"  said  Flora.  "  They  are  bet- 
ter than  you  suppose  them  to  be ;  and  they  would  take  the 
best  care  of  you,  and  never  want  you  to  pay  them.  We 
shall  make  you  go  with  us,  and  you  shall  stay  a  good  many 
nights ;  and  then  your  head  will  get  well,  and  we  will 
chase  your  tears  all  away,  and  make  you  very  happy." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,  and  this  poor  heart  thanks 
you  for  such  kind  words  ;  but,  alas  !  you  know  not  what  I 
am,  and  your  parents  do  not  know,  or  they  would  not  have 
wished  that  I  had  come  home  with  you.  If  they  did  know, 
and  would  let  me  come  and  stay  a  little  while  —  a  few  days — 
I  would  be  so  glad  !  "  replied  Delia. 

"  If  you  are  poor  and  forsakfen,  father  said,"  remarked 
Flora,  "why,  then  it  would  be  his  duty  to  welcome  you, 
and,  if  possible,  find  you  a  home.'' 

"  Your  father  must  be  a  good  man,"  said  Delia,  :<  and  I 
will  hope  that  he  will  not  spurn  me  from  his  door ;  but, 
alas! " 

"  There,  don't  say  any  more  about  it,  if  you  please," 
said  Flora,  "for  I  know  you  will  be  very  welcome  ;  and 
oow  we  want  you  to  eat  some  of  our  nice  things." 

While  the  conversation  was  going  on,  the  children  had 


94  GLENWOOD. 

spread  out  their  little  cloth,  and  covered  it  with  an  abun- 
dance of  tempting  food ;  but  Delia,  who  had  eaten  so  heart- 
ily two  days  before,  could  eat  but  little  now. 

"I  geth  you  must  be  real  sick,"  said  little  Jeannie,  "for 
you  don't  eat  not  half  so  much  as  I,  and  you  are  ever  so 
much  bigger." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  am  not  well  to-day,  or  I  should  eat  a  great 
deal  of  such  good  victuals." 

"  I  will  go  and  get  you  some  of  that  cold  water,"  said 
Franky,  "  and  then  you  will  be  ever  so  much  better." 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  "I  should  like  a  drink  of 
that  water,  it  was  so  refreshing,  and  my  mouth  is  so  hot 
and  dry !  " 

The  boy  soon  returned,  and  the  cool  beverage  in  a  meas- 
ure revived  the  wanderer.  The  kind  Flora  told  her  that 
if  she  was  willing  she  would  do  to  her  head  as  her  mother 
did  to  hers  when  it  ached  ;  and  so  she  bathed  it  with  the 
water,  and  pressed  it  hard  with  her  hands.  If  this  treatment 
did  not  remove  the  pain,  it  soothed  the  weary  one,  and  made 
her  so  grateful  that  the  tears  renewedly  rolled  down  her 
cheeks.  Flora  now  took  Delia  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  to 
the  place  she  had  before  spoken  of;  and,  taking  her  own 
shawl,  she  made  a  pillow  with  it  for  her  head,  and,  while 
giving  utterance  to  comforting  and  soothing  words,  laid  her 
soft  hands  upon  Delia's  fair,  white  brow,  until  unconscious- 
ness gradually  stole  over  her,  and  she  fell  into  a  quiet 
sleep.  She  now  stole  noiselessly  from  the  sleeping  stranger, 
and  returned  with  her  brother  and  sister  to  school. 

As  will  have  been  noticed,  Flora  was  a  very  thoughtful 
child,  and  she  was  apprehensive  that  Delia  was  too  sick  tc 
sleep  so  long  in  the  open  air, —  she  might  take  more  cold. 


GLENWOOD.  96 

And  so,  when  it  was  time  for  recess,  she  asked  to  be  dis- 
missed; which  request  was  kindly  granted,  coupled  with 
the  permission  for  her  little  brother  and  sister  to  go  with 
her. 

Delia  was  awoke  from  her  peaceful  sleep  by  the  kind- 
hearted  children ;  and,  taking  a  proffered  hand  in  each  of 
hers,  she  started  for  their  home.  But  her  steps  were  now 
unsteady  and  slow,  and  the  mile  which  they  had  to  go  seemed 
to  her  like  a  long  journey.  Her  little  companions  noticed 
how  feeble  she  was,  and  they  encouraged  her  with  the  oft- 
repeated  assurance  that  it  was  but  a  little  further,  and  they 
should  soon  be  there. 

After  passing  over  a  number  of  hills,  and  through  a  small 
wood-lot,  the  children  exclaimed : 

"  There  is  our  home  !  "  and  Delia  saw,  a  short  distance 
from  where  they  then  were,  on  a  pleasant  eminence,  a  large 
and  lovely  cottage,  with  a  most  inviting  home-like  look  — 
the  location  admirably  chosen,  and  the  architecture  very 
beautiful.  It  had  an  extensive  garden  in  front,  in  the  form 
of  a  half-circle ;  and  there  were  beds  of  flowers  and  vege- 
tables, with  grassy  banks,  the  whole  length  of  the  garden, 
and  continued  in  regular  gradations  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hill.  In  the  rear  of  the  house  was  a  graceful  and  inviting 
arbor,  covered  with  luxuriant  grape-vines,  making  a  pleasant 
retreat.  In  this  beautiful  place  were  a  number  of  seats  made 
of  the  small  and  curiously-formed  trees  which  grew  in  a 
swamp  not  far  off;  and  they  were  so  ingeniously  put  together 
in  the  shape  of  large  easy-chairs  and  sofas,  and  seemed  so 
well  adapted  to  the  place,  that  every  one  was  perfectly  de- 
lighted with  them.  The  newest  and  most  elegant  furniture 
would  have  seemed  tame  there,  iu  comparison.  In  the  gar- 


96  GILENWOOD. 

den  were  many  flourishing  fruit-trees ;  and  a  splendid  orchard, 
containing  four  acres  of  young,'  vigorous  apple-trees,  grafted 
\vith  all  the  best  fruit  in  New  England,  lay  just  back  of  the 
beautiful  arbor.  A  little  distance  from  the  cottage  were 
fields  of  corn,  rye  and  oats,  potatoes,  etc.  The  out-build- 
ings were  all  in  excellent  repair,  and  everything  in  the  most 
complete  order;  so  that  this  home  had  a  quiet,  happy,  and 
comfortable  aspect. 

To  Delia,  whose  exhausted  frame  and  anxious  spirit  would 
have  rendered  her  grateful  for  almost  any  place  of  refuge, 
this  retreat  seemed  like  a  paradise.  She  knew,  at  a 
glance,  that  Mr.  Wyman  was  a  farmer,  and  a  very  in- 
telligent and  worthy  one;  but  when  she  thought  what 
she  was,  and  that  the  owners  of  that  delightful  cottage 
were  entirely  unacquainted  with  her, —  with  the  circum- 
stances which  had  so  strangely  conspired  to  bring  about 
her  ruin, —  she  hesitated  to  enter  that  abode,  the  home  of 
innocence  and  peace.  With  this  feeling,  she  sat  down  and 
began  to  weep ;  and,  when  urged  to  go  forward  by  the  chil- 
dren, she  told  them  that  she  could  not  —  that  they  must 
go  without  her,  and  she  would  return  to  the  woods  and  lie 
down  and  die.  She  almost  thought  that  it  was  her  duty  to 
hasten  away  as  fast  as  her  feet  could  carry  her. 

"Do  come,"  said  Flora,  "and  you  shall  lie  down  in 
such  a  pretty  room,  and  rest  yourself  so  nice  !  " 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot !  "  Delia  replied.  "  They  would  not 
want  me  in  that  happy  place.  0  !  that  I  might  die  !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  will  not  go  in  with  me,  I  will  run  and  tell 
mother,  and  she  will  come  out  after  you  !  "  aud  away  she 
went,  with  all  haste,  leaving  the  other  children  with 
Delia. 


OLENWOOD.  97 

They  did  not  wait  long,  for  Flora  soon  returned  with  her 
mother.  Delia  saw  Mrs.  Wyman  approaching,  and  tried  in 
vain  to  hold  up  her  head.  But  the  latter  went  to  her,  and 
gently  raised  her  up,  saying  that  her  little  girls  had  spoken 
of  her  two  days  before,  and  she  was  very  glad  she  had  come ; 
and  now  she  must  go  into  her  cottage,  where  she  should  be 
most  welcome.  Delia  mechanically  obeyed,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  motherly  companion.  When  once  in  the  house, 
she  suffered  her  bonnet  and  shawl  to  be  removed ;  and,  being 
led  to  a  comfortable  seat,  she  gladly  sat  down,  thankful  that 
she  might  do  so,  even  while  her  heart  beat  with  the  most 
painful  forebodings.  And  when  she  saw  a  most  pitying  ex- 
pression steal  over  the  face  of  her  hostess,  she  instinctively 
tried  to  shrink  away  from  the  gaze  of  those  clear,  beautiful 
eyes.  Not  that  she  expected  to  see  them  flash  with  indig- 
nation, or  that  she  would  utter  words  of  crushing  reproof; 
but  she  feared  lest  she  should  be  too  great  an  offence  to  so 
much  goodness. 

"You  are  shivering,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman,  "and  I  fear  that 
you  have  taken  a  severe  cold.  Flora,  go  and  bring  in  some 
dry  wood  and  kindle  a  fire  here,  and  then  make  one  in  the 
kitchen." 

There  was  a  bright-looking  fire-frame  in  this  sitting-room, 

o  o  o  * 

and  in  it  a  brisk  fire  was  soon  burning, —  how  pleasant  to 
the  chilled  and  exhausted  stranger  !  She  queried  whether 
it  could  be  as  warm  out-doors  as  she  had  thought  it  was  a  few 
days  before.  And  then  she  wondered  what  Mr.  Wyman 
would  say  when  he  came  in  from  his  work.  Should  she 
moot  with  the  same  compassion  and  kindness  in  him  she 
had  already  observed  in  his  wife  ?  Would  they  allow  her 
to  remain  over  night  ? 
9 


98  GLENWOOD. 

While  these  reflections  were  passing  through  her  mind, 
Mrs.  Wyman  was  preparing  herb-tea,  which  she  soon 
brought  to  her ;  and,  after  that,  a  bowl  of  tepid  water,  in 
which  she  bathed  her  face  and  hands ;  and  then  she  combed 
and  arranged  her  beautiful  hair :  and  when  she  had  done  all 
this,  she  looked  into  her  face,  and  exclaimed,  ' '  How  beauti- 
ful you  are  !  "  bending  over  and  kissing  her  forehead.  This 
was  so  unexpected  to  Delia,  that  she  looked  up  with  a  smile 
of  surprise ;  and,  meeting  the  glance  of  those  clear,  beautiful 
eyes,  she  leaned  her  head  confidingly  upon  her  bosom. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman;  "there  is  a  terrible 
wrong  somewhere,  or  this  could  not  have  been.  Your  coun- 
tenance has  no  look  of  hardened  guilt,  or  a  love  of  sin.  If 
I  should  hear  your  own  lips  declare  it,  I  could  not  believe 
it." 

What  blessed  words  were  those  to  Delia,  and  how  glad 
she  was  that  they  should  be  spoken,  even  though  coming 
from  the  lips  of  a  stranger  !  She  wished  to  thank  her  for 
them,  but  so  great  was  her  emotion  that  she  could  not  speak, 
and  so  she  wept  aiiJl  sobbed  like  a  little  child. 

"  It  was  not  my  intention  to  make  you  weep,"  Mrs.  Wy- 
man remarked  ;  "  but  the  omen  is  a  happy  one,  confirming 
my  previous  impressions,  that  your  heart  is  tender  and 
good.  Dry  your  tears,  dear,  and  when  you  are  strong 
enough  you  shall  tell  me  all  —  yes,  everything,  keeping 
nothing  back  ;  and  I  shall  believe  every  word  ;  and  in  me 
shall  you  find  the  friend  you  so  much  need  in  this  hour  of 
bitter  trial." 

"  0 !  how  good  you  are  !  "  said  Delia,  looking  up  into  her 
face  through  her  tears. 

"  "Not  very  good,  I  fear,"  was  the   reply;   "but  I  know 


GLENWOOD.  99 

that  you  are  a  poor,  forsaken  one,  in  distress,  and  it  is  my 
duty  to  help  you." 

".I  am  so  glad  that  those  dear  children  brought  me  here ! 
but  —  but  what  will  your  husband  say?  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  him,  for  he  is  not  unworthy  of  trust; 
and  I  can  promise  you  that  you  will  find  him  both  ready 
and  willing  to  assist  you." 

"  I  have  not  doubted  that  he  was  good,  but  I  thought  he 
could  not  be  willing  to  let  me  remain  in  his  sweet  home. 
Man's  heart  is  not  so  tender  as  woman's." 

"  I  don't  know  how  that  may  be,  but  Mr.  Wyman's  is  as 
tender  as  one  could  Avish.  I  must  go  now  and  prepare  the 
tea,  and  you  will  remain  here.  I  would  send  in  one  of  the 
children,  only  it  is  rather  too  warm  for  them.  I  would  like, 
however,  before  I  go,  to  know  your  name,  as  I  shall  want 
to  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Wyman." 

"  Delia  Gregg." 

"Is  that  a  name  you  have  assumed  for  a  time,  or  is  it 
your  real  name  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  own  name,  and  I  have  never  once  thought  of 
taking  any  other." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  as  artless  as  a  child ;  and  I  am  glad 
that  you  are.  for  I  shall  feel  it  so  much  the  more  my  duty 
to  befriend  you." 

It  was  not  long  before  Delia  heard  the  voice  of  Mr.  Wy- 
man ;  and,  notwithstanding  what  his  wife  had  said,  she  was 
fearful  of  the  result.  She  fancied  that,  if  he  was  so  very 
good,  he  would  bid  her  leave  his  house,  and  never  enter  it 
again,  for  she  must  be  so  offensive  to  him.  Some  minutes 
elapsed  before  she  heard  him  approaching,  the  door  having 
been  closed,  and  during  this  time  her  heart  beat  violently, 


100  GLENWOOD. 

and  now  she  trembled  in  every  limb,  and  her  face  became  of 

an  ashy  paleness. 

"  Miss  Gregg,"  said  the  musical  voice  of  Mrs.  Wyman, 

"  this  is  my  husband,  who  is  very  glad  that  you  are  here." 
Mr.  Wyman  took  Delia's  trembling  hand  and  shook  it 

cordially,  and  sa;d,  "My  wife  has  told  the  truth,  and  you 

are  most  welcome  to  my  house  and  home ;  doubt  not  that 

you  are  with  those  who  are  able  and  willing  to  befriend 

you." 

"Just  see  how  very  pale  she  is,  through  apprehension  of 

your  dreaded  presence  !     I  fancy  that  she  is  the  first  woman 

who  was  ever  afraid  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Mr.  Wyman  replied.     "  If 

my  memory  is  not  decidedly  treacherous,  a  certain  lady  was 
once  a  little  too  timid  in  my  presence  for  my  comfort.  But 
she  learned  better  in  due  season ;  and  so  will  you,  Miss 
Gregg." 

Delia  was  now  told  that  supper  was  ready,  and,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Wyman,  she  walked  out  and  sat  down 
to  a  well-spread  board.  As  sick  as  she  was,  she  noticed 
that  everything  was  in  the  most  perfect  order,  and  the 
bread  and  pastry  reminded  her  of  the  delicious  repast  she 
had  taken  with  the  children  by  the  roadside.  The  table- 
cloth was  clean  and  white,  the  knives  and  forks  shone,  and 
the  plates,  cups  and  saucers,  were  so  bright  and  glistening, 
that  they  reflected  faces  like  a  mirror. 

After  supper,  when  she  had  returned  to  the  sitting-room, 
little  Jeannie  went  and  sat  by  her  side,  and  entertained  her 
with  her  childish  prattle,  frequently  beseeching  her  not  to 
go  away  in  the  morning.  By  and  by  the  other  children 
came  in,  kissed  her,  bade  her  good-night,  and  went  to  be  . 


GLENWOOD.  101 


Mr.  Wyman  harnessed  his  horse  and  rode  to  the  village  to 
do  some  shopping,  and  so  Delia  was  left  alone  with  Mrs. 
Wyman. 

"You  look  sick,"  said  the  latter,  "and,  if  it  will  tax 
your  strength  too  much,  you  need  not  relate  your  history 
to-night." 

But  Delia  felt  a  great  deal  better,  and  she  fancied  that 
now  she  was  quite  well,  and  so  she  said  :  "  I  don't  feel  much 
sick,  and  I  should  rather  tell  you  now,  or  I  shall  think  of 
it  all  night, —  and  I  wish  to  rest.  But  you  will  let  me 
remain  till  morning?" 

'  Let  you  remain!  I  will  not  let  you  go.  You  must 
not  doubt  me  any  more,  Delia,  for  I  am  not  deceiving  you. 
It  is  no  idle  curiosity  which  prompts  me,  as  you  might  sup- 
pose, to  make  the  request  which  I  have.  Rest  assured  that 
my  motives  are  pure,  and  I  trust  that  my  request  will  be 
met  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  made.  You  will  tell  me  all, 
I  am  sure,  and  not  try  to  deceive  or  mislead  me  in  the  least, 
—  will  you  not,  dear  ?  " 

"  0 !  yes,  yes,  I  will !  I  could  not  deceive  one  so  good 
to  the  poor  outcast.  0!  I  should  have  died  if  you  had 
not  taken  pity  upon  me  !  How  kind  in  your  husband 
to  give  me  such  friendly  greeting!  I  could  fall  down  at 
your  feet,  and  kiss  them,  and  bathe  them  with  tears  of 
gratitude." 

"You  warm-hearted  child  !  but  do  not  weep  any  more. 
There  may  be  rich  blessings  in  store  for  you  yet." 

' '  I  have  no  hope  of  that ;  no  hope  of  happiness  in  this 
world, —  and  I  look  for  rest  only  in  the  grave." 

"In  the  grave?" 

"  Or  beyond  it.     I  hope  that  one  who  is  dearer  to  me 
9* 


102  GLENWOOD. 

than  all  this  world  contains  is  in  heaven,  and  that  I  may, 
ere  long,  meet  him  there." 

"Your  thoughts  are  sad,  child,  and  I  hope  your  earth- 
future  may  not  be  so  dark  and  drear  as  you  now  imagine 
it  must  be.  The  blackest  clouds  are  chased  away  by  the 
sun,  and  then  how  clear  and  beautiful  is  the  sky  !  It  is  the 
darkest,  you  know,  just  before  the  day." 

"Yes,  yes;  so  I  dreamed  three  nights  ago,  and  I  have 
believed  ever  since  that  the  day  would  come,  and  so  I  will 
patiently  wait  for  it." 

Mrs.  Wyman  now  found  that  her  eyes  were  filling  with 
tears,  and  she  arose  and  clasped  Delia  to  her  heart,  saying, 

"  You  dear,  dear  child  !  you  have  no  mother,  I  am  sure, 
or  one  like  you  could  not  be  here.  I  know  that  you  have 
sinned,  Delia ;  but  who  is  entirely  guiltless  ?  And  the  world 
would  shut  out  such  as  you  from  all  its  sympathies  and 
loves ;  and  yet  how  many  self-righteous  ones,  honored  by 
man,  shining  lights  in  the  church,  would  knock  in  vain  at 
heaven's  gate,  if  merit  opened  the  door,  while  you  would  be 
welcomed  by  the  dearest  angels !  " 

"Do  you  think  so?  Then  I  will  believe  it,  for  one  so 
good  as  you  must  know.  I  have  no  mother  on  earth,  but 
she  is  in  heaven.  I  don't  remember  'her,  but  I  have  Seen 
her  in  a  dream,  and  she  was  so  very  beautiful  that  I  wished 
to  go  to  her,  and  have  her  teach  me  to  be  pure  and  happy ; 
and  I  shall  go  to  her,  and  to  him !  If  the  departed  can 
come  and  minister  to  and  bless  the  living,  I  know  my  moth- 
er will  come  to  you  !  " 

"  I  hope  so,  dear  !  But  now  put  your  feet  on  this  stool, 
and  rest  your  head  upon  this  pillow,  and,  before  you  are  too 
weary,  relate  to  me  the  history  of  your  life." 


QLENWOOD.  103 

Delia,  with  many  tears,  briefly  told  her  all,  commencing 
with  early  childhood,  and  following  her  life  down  to  the 
present.  She  did  as  requested,  relating  faithfully  everything 
of  the  least  importance.  "And  now,"  said  she,  when  she 
had  finished,  "  can  you  let  me  stop  with  you  a  few  days,  till 
I  am  well  and  strong  again,  or  must  I  go  to-morrow? " 

"Don't  talk  so,  Delia;  for  I  feel  now  that  I  can  love 
you  ,•  and  never  —  mind  what  I  say,  and  you  must  obey  me  — 
shall  you  leave  this  house,  without  you  have  a  good  home 
hi  view.  I  regret  your  imprudence,  but  I  have  no  word  of 
censure ;  for  you  have  suffered  too  much  already.  Here  you 
are  safe,  and  while  you  remain  you  shall  be  most  welcome ; 
and  so  you  must  try  to  be  happy." 

"  0 !  bless  you  !  "  said  Delia,  falling  on  her  knees  at  the 
good  woman's  fe9t ;  "and  I  shall  not  have  to  go  away  all 
alone  again,  with  no  hope  of  finding  shelter  or  rest? " 

"  No-!  no  !  you  grateful  darling ;  I  am  to  act  the  part  of 
mother,  now  that  yours  is  in  heaven.  If  she  had  lived,  I 
never  should  have  had  the  opportunity.  I  am  astonished  at 
the  course  of  your  father,  brother,  and  sister.  They  have 
not  only  forgotten  the  claims  of  blood,  but  of  the  simplest 
humanity.  You  are  not  like  them,  but  a  thousand  times 
better.  The  world  pities  or  despises  you,  and  perhaps  envies 
them';  but  I  should  much  rather  be  like  you  to-night,  than 
to  be  cursed  with  such  hard,  unfeeling  hearts.  Take  cour- 
age, poor  wronged  one,  and  no  longer  despair!  "  and,  kissing 
her,  she  raised  her  up,  and  replaced  her,  as  a  mother  would  a 
sick  child,  in  the  rocking-chair.  Delia  had  no  inclination 
now  to  resist  anything  she  might  do  for  her ;  for  she  felt  that 
she  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  one  of  earth's  angels,  and 
she  would  do  only  what  was  for  the  best.'  She  had  not 


104 


GLENWO  0  D. 


known  before  that  the  world  contained  such  beautiful  beings  ; 
and  now  how  glad  she  was,  and  how  willing  to  forget  her 
sorrows,  and  let  quiet  thoughts  nestle  down  into  her  heart ! 
When  she  was  more  calm,  Mrs.  Wyman  led  Delia  to  her 
couch,  which  was  in  a  pleasant  little  room,  arranged  like 
everything  else  in  the  cottage,  with  the  same  neatness  and 
taste.  She  found  the  bed  so  much  like  her  own  at  home, 
that  she  wanted  to  clasp  it  in  her  arms  for  very  joy.  And, 
after  sleeping  upon  the  hard  floor,  and  in  the  barn,  and  out  in 
the  field,  upon  the  damp  earth,  to  have  such  a  bed,  it  was 
too  much  happiness, — more  than  she  could  have  hoped  for. 
When  Mrs.  Wyman  brought  her  a  cup  of  herb-tea,  which, 
she  remarked,  would  throw  her  into  a  perspiration,  she  asked 
no  questions,  but  took  it  like  a  little  child.  A  kiss,  and  a 
sweet  good-night,  and  Delia  was  left  alone.  She  hardly 
dared  to  think  now,  for  it  seemed  impossible  that  such  good 
fortune  should  be  hers.  She  felt  happier  than  she  had  since 
Jimmey  Penly's  death,  and,  breathing  her  thanks  to  Heav- 
en, she  fell  into  a  deep  slumbec 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MR.    AND    MRS.    WTMAN. — SICKNESS. DARKEST    BEFORB    THE    DAT. 

NEW  HOUSEHOLD  TREASURE. SHORT-LIVED  JOY. THE  GATHERED  BUD 

GIVEN    TO    STRANGERS. 

MR.  WYMAN  returned  home  a  little  before  ten  o'clock. 
His  wife  related  to  him  the  history  of  Delia,  and  expressed 
her  own  wishes  in  relation  to  her,  in  which  he  fully  con- 
curred. He  was  blessed  with  an  abundance,  and  he  would 
rather  the  needy  should  have  the  benefit  of  the  worldly 
goods  which  had  graciously  fallen  to  his  lot,  than  to  have 
them  used  only  to  entertain  and  feast  those  who  were  well 
able  to  provide  for  themselves. 

"But,  John,"  she  said,  "we  shall  be  severely  censured, 
and  our  motives  belied ;  and  we  may  lose  the  good  name 
which  has  been  ours  so  long." 

"  We  cannot  suffer  in  a  better  cause,"  he  replied ;  "  and, 
if  you  can  bear  it,  dear,  I  am  sure  that  I  can.  We  have 
nothing  to  fear,  however,  for  which  we  need  give  ourselves 
the  least  alarm.  This  house  is  our  own  ;  this  farm  is  our 
own,  and  it  yields  an  abundance  ;  and  while  I  raise  our  own 
corn,  wheat,  rye,  and  potatoes,  you  make  our  own  butter 
and  cheese,  and  we  are  independent;  so  let  the  world  wag, 
—  who  cares?  " 

"I  like  your  spirit,  John;  but,  supposing  we  were  not 
independent?  " 


106  GLENWOOD. 

"  Hardly  a  supposable  case,  I  take  it;  for  we  are.  But 
suppose  that  we  were  not, —  what  then  ?  Why,  we  would 
do  right,  and  let  the  consequences  take  care  of  themselves  ; 
the  poor  girl  should  still  have  a  home  with  us." 

"  So  she  should,  dear  !  and  I  am  glad  that  you  think  just 
as  I  do  about  it ;  for  it  is  right,  and  the  right  is  always  the 
best,  if  we  could  only  believe  it." 

"On  such  subjects,  Carra,  we  seldom,  if  ever,  differ  in 
thought.  I  am  more  and  more  grateful,  every  day  I  live, 
that  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  win  you  for  my  helpmeet  and 
life-companion." 

"That  could  not  have  been  otherwise,  love;  for  we  were 
made  for  each  other." 

"  And  yet  it  might  have  been  our  doom  never  to  have  met 
on  earth,  or  to  have  met  only  to  realize  that  there  were 
obstacles  which  could  not  be  overleaped ;  and  the  mutual 
bliss,  such  as  we  now  enjoy,  would  have  been  impossible. 
I  have  heard  of  such  cases,  and  they  made  my  heart  sad  : 
and  I  could  not  help  wishing  that,  by  some  honorable  means, 
the  obstacles  might  be  removed  which  separated  the  two 
which  should  be  one,  and  so  they  be  permitted  to  enter  into 
that  state  of  happiness  which  they  were  so  well  fitted  for." 

"  Such  cases  are  lamentable,  but  I  suppose  they  will 
sometimes  occur ;  though  I  fancy  they  would  not  if  people 
had  more  faith,  for  then  the  good  angels  would  bring  the 
wandering  ones  together.  They  are  too  often  untrue  to 
their  own  natures ;  and  so  they  marry  for  family  or  property, 
or  because  they  are  not  pleasantly  situated  at  home,  and 
thus  shut  themselves,  with  their  own  hand,  out  of  the  king- 
dom of  heaven." 

"When  do  you  expect  mother  will  return?  " 

• 


QLENWOOD.  107 

"  Next  week.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  children 
brought  home  a  letter  from  her  to-night.  She  is  in  good 
health,  and  her  spirits  as  buoyant  as  ever." 

"  What  will  she  say  to  our  new  friend,  think  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  I  fancy  she  will  be  very  kind  to  her, 
not  only  out  of  regard  to  us,  but  from  pure  benevolence  to 
her." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it ;  for  I  always  thought  that  mother  and 
daughter  were  wonderfully  alike." 

"  That  is  a  compliment  to  me,  certainly ;  and,  I  trust, 
no  disparagement  to  her.  I  scarcely  hope  that  I  have  the 
faculty  of  making  myself  agreeable  to  both  old  and  young 
which  she  has,  without  the  least  effort  to  do  so." 

"I  suppose  the  secret  lies  in  the  fact  that  her  heart  is 
warm  and  good,  and,  having  a  desire  to  make  all  happy,  it 
comes  as  natural  as  it  does  to  breathe." 

"  She  is  a  dear,  good  mother,  and  the  children  are  just  as 
anxious  for  her  return  as  I  am." 

Delia  slept  until  towards  morning,  and  when  she  awoke 
she  was  conscious  of  being  very  ill ;  the  pain  in  her  head 
had  increased,  and  she  was  shivering  with  cold,  while  her 
mouth  and  throat  were  burning  and  husky.  Still  being 
very  sleepy,  however,  after  changing  her  position  her  eyes 
closed  again ;  but  she  moaned  so  loud  in  her  slumbers,  that 
she  was  heard  by  Mrs.  Wyman,  who  quickly  arose  and  went 
to  her. 

She  gave  her  such  remedies  as  she  thought  requisite, 
but  they  did  not  avail ;  and  in  Jhe  morning  a  physician  was 
sent  for,  who  administered  medicines  which  quickly  relieved 
her  distress.  The  next  morning  he  came  again,  and  then 
he  declared  that  her  symptoms  all  indicated  fever.  It  was 


108  GLENWOOD. 

not  long  before  her  mind  was  wandering  the  most  of  the 
time ;  and  then  she  would  frequently  exclaim : 

"  How  dark  !  dark  —  fearfully  dark  it  is  !  But  I  see  the 
light,  don't  you?  —  away,  away  off  there!"  pointing 
towards  the  east.  "  And  he  is  coming  !  0  !  so  beautiful !  — 
He  is  an  angel  now ;  —  yes  !  yes  !  he  is  coming !  "  and  then, 
clapping  her  hands,  "  0  joy  !  joy  !  it  is  the  darkest  just  be- 
fore the  day ;  but  the  morning  will  come." 

During  these  paroxysms  of  gloom  and  ecstatic  joy,  her 
dark  eyes  looked  wildly  bright,  and  her  handsome  face, 
flushed  with  disease,  was  lit  up  with  beauty  more  than 
earthly.  And  through  it  all,  whethei  clothed  in  her  right 
mind  or  wandering,  she  was  the  same  patient,  child-like 
being,  instinctively  trusting  in  the  kind  one  who  was  ever 
hovering  near  her,  anticipating  all  her  wants. 

As  Mrs.  Wyman's  mother  resided  with  her,  they  usually 
kept  no  servants  in  the  house ;  but  now  one  was  immediately 
procured.  The  next  week,  Mrs. -Motley  returned;  and  then, 
as  she  had  greater  experience,  and  was  as  devoted  and  kind 
to  the  sick  as  the  daughter,  and  her  touch  as  soothing,  the 
latter  felt  that  she  could  take  more  rest  than  she  had  done 
since  Delia's  sickness,  which  the  state  of  her  health  so  much 
required. 

At  first,  Delia  seemed  to  shrink  from  Mrs.  Motley,  and 
was  uneasy  when  Mrs.  Wyman  was  absent  from  her  side. 
She  soon  learned,  however,  that  she  was  very  much  like  the 
latter,  in  gentle,  motherly  care ;  and  when  Mrs.  Wyman  could 
not  be  with  her,  Mrs.  Motley  was  preferred  to  any  one  else. 
After  the  lapse  of  two  weeks,  every  day  having  been  very 
dangerous  to  the  patient,  the  doctor  declared  that  the  fever 
had  "turned,"  and  that  there  were  hopes  of  a  speedy  recovery. 


GLENWOOD.  109 

Delia  was  in  a  very  weak  state  when  the  fever  left  her, 
but  her  wandering  senses  were  restored,  and  she  felt  per- 
fectly resigned  to  lie  in  her  nice  bed,  the  best  care  being  taken 
of  her,  and  all  her  wants  anticipated,  or  quickly  gratified 
when  made  known.  Her  friends  were  so  careful,  so  affec- 
tionate, and  spoke  so  kindly  to  her,  that  she  gave  herself  no 
anxiety  in  relation  to  all  the  trouble  and  expense  she  had 
caused;  but,  like  a  child  at  home,  she  reposed  quietly  on  her 
soft  couch,  and  felt  that  it  was  all  right  that  things  should 
be  as  they  were. 

As  she  gradually  gained  strength,  she  frequently  amused 
herself  by  tracing  the  resemblance  between  mother  and 
daughter.  She  saw  it  to  be  very  striking,  age  alone  making 
the  difference.  The  former  had  the  same  clear  gray  eyes,  with 
the  expression  of  warm-hearted  love ;  the  complexion  was 
similar :  the  form  of  the  face,  except  it  was  more  full  and 
broad,  and  not  so  fair.  She  was  a  little  taller,  but,  being 
more  fleshy,  she  seemed  of  the  same  height.  Both  had  soft 
brown  hair,  the  mother's  slightly  sprinkled  with  gray. 

The  recovery  of  Delia  was  not  so  rapid  as  the  doctor  had 
anticipated,  but  from  day  to  day  the  change,  though  slow, 
was  for  the  better.  By  and  by  she  could  sit  up  two  or  three 
hours  at  a  time,  and  walk  without  help  about  the  room ;  but 
she  was  very  pale,  and  the  contrast  made  her  dark  eyes  won- 
derfully bright.  Mrs.  Motley  was  uniformly  kind,  and  ever 
sought  to  cheer  her  heart  with  hopes  of  a  brighter  future. 
Mrs.  Wyman  could  not  have  been  more  faithful  to  a  sister  ; 
and  the  three  children  frequently  came  in  to  see  her,  bring- 
ing a  variety  of  beautiful  flowers,  and  cheering  her  with 
the  warm  sunshine  of  their  smiles.  The  deep  gratitude 
which  Delia  felt  could  not  be  uttered  in  words,  but  her  looks, 
10 


110  GLENWOOD. 

the  eloquent  brightness  of  her  eyes,  revealed  it  all  a  thou- 
sand times  better  than  the  most  beautiful  sentences  could 
have  done. 

But,  notwithstanding  all  this,  we  must  not  suppose  that 
Delia  was  free  from  sorrow.  True,  she  had  been  received 
into  the  bosom  of  one  of  the  best  of  families,  experiencing 
from  its  members  the  kindest  treatment  and  the  warmest 
affection ;  but  this  could  not  banish  from  her  mind  the  painful 
consciousness  of  her  wretched  condition. 

It  was  a  relief  to  her  to  be  well  enough  to  go  out  again, 
and  ramble  in  the  fields,  and  sit  under  the  trees,  and  hear 
the  birds  sing.  Health,  in  a  measure,  again  returned ;  but 
departed  joys  came  not  —  nature  was  glad  and  wondrously 
beautiful,  clothed  in  all  the  matchless  glory  of  summer ;  but, 
alas  !  there  was  a  heavy  cloud  in  her  sky,  and  her  childhood 
stars  had  faded  forever  from  her  sight. 

Early  one  morning  in  August,  Jeannie  came  into  her 
room,  and,  climbing  on  to  the  bed,  awoke  the  sleeper  with 
kisses.  As  soon  as  Delia  opened  her  eyes,  she  saw  that  her 
little  friend  looked  unusually  joyous. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  inquired. 

"  0  !  I  have  dut  another  little  brother." 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  it,  Jeannie  —  is  he  pretty?" 

"  I  don't  know  hardly  yet,  't  is  so  little ;  but  he  will  drow 
bigger,  dand-mamma  says.  0  !  I  am  so  dlad  !  You  have  n't 
any  baby-boy,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  !  "  and  she  turned  away  her  face,  restraining 
herself  with  difficulty  from  bursting  into  tears. 

This  intelligence  aroused  in  Delia's  mind  new  feelings  of 
anxiety.  "  I  ought  not  to  remain  here  any  longer,"  she 
thought.  "  It  cannot  be  right,  when  they  have  so  many 


GLENWOOD.  Ill 

children  of  their  own  to  care  for,  and  I  can  make  them  no 
remuneration  at  all.  I  must  away,  and  seek  a  home  else- 
where ;  but  where  can  I  go  ?  " 

Such  reflections  made  her  very  unhappy ;  but  she  arose, 
and  hastened  to  the  couch  of  her  friend,  whom  she  was  glad 
to  find  in  a  delicious  sleep.  She  kissed  her  when  she  awoke, 
and  from  day  to  day  sought,  by  every  means  in  her  power, 
to  return  the  kindness  and  care  which  had  been  so  faithfully 
bestowed  upon  her ;  so  that  Mrs.  Wyman  often  declared  that 
never  woman  had  a  better  nurse  than  she. 

"  I  am  thankful,"  said  Delia,  "that  you  are  pleased  with 
what  I  have  done,  for  I  am  so  indebted  to  you.  I  often  feel 
that  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  be  a  burthen  to  you,  and  that  I 
should  seek  a  home  elsewhere." 

"  You  know  that  I  don't  allow  such  talk,"  Mrs.  Wyman 
replied ;  "  and,  if  you  do  not  discontinue  it,  I  will  stop  your 
mouth  with  kisses." 

"  You  are  so  kind,"  she  said,  "  that  I  cannot  do  otherwise 
than  submit  to  your  wishes.  It  is  true  I  frequently  think 
that  I  should  not  remain  longer ;  but,  if  I  should  leave  you, 
where  could  I  go  ?  I  should  again  be  homeless  and  forsaken, 
and  I  should  die  !  " 

"  You  shall  not  leave  us  —  never  —  without  you  have  a 
sure  place  of  refuge,"  said  Mr.  Wyman.  "  Here  you  will 
remain  until  it  is  best  for  you  to  go  elsewhere." 

The  summer  months  had  now  passed  away,  and  autumn, 
with  its  brown  eyes,  had  come.  In  the  spring  the  maple- 
trees  made  the  woods  look  cheerful  and  gay,  with  their  red 
buds  and  flowers ;  and  now  their  green  leaves  were  changed, 
taking  the  most  brilliant  hue,  red  and  bright  like  fire,  illum- 
inating the  groves  with  their  strange  beauty.  These  were 


GLENWO  OD. 

but  forerunners  ;  and  ere  long  light  frost  appeared,  sending 
its  little  spirits  up  on  to  the  hills  and  down  into  the  valleys, 
painting  the  delicate  foliage,  and  changing  the  whole  aspect  of 
the  woods.  By  and  by  every  tree  had  its  variety  of  coloring, 
and  in  the  distance  the  groves  looked  like  vast  and  mighty 
gardens  of  flowers.  These  gorgeous  scenes  of  beauty  were 
doomed  soon  to  pass  away ;  for  the  cold  winds  and  the  sharper 
frosts  came,  and  then  they  were  rudely  torn  from  the  shaking 
limbs  they  had  clothed  in  loveliness  so  long,  and  hurled 
fainting  to  the  earth.  Delia  noticed  these  changes  as  she 
had  never  done  before ;  and  the  gorgeous  resplendence  of 
the  dying  year  caused  her  to  wish  that  there  might  be 
something  lovely  and  attractive  in  her,  even  when  the  win- 
ter of  death  was  drawing  nigh. 

It  was  the  latter  part  of  October,  when  nearly  all  the 
flowers  had  been  swept  away  by  the  cold  winds  and  frosts, 
that  a  beautiful  bud,  more  beautiful  than  the  richest  flower 
she  had  ever  seen,  was  laid  in  her  bosom,  and  pressed  closely 
to  her  heart,  which  wildly  throbbed  with  ecstatic  joy  and  love. 
All  too  true  it  was,  mournfully  true,  that  the  summer 
had  departed  when  it  came  ;  that  the  green  leaves  of  spring 
had  faded  and  fallen  ;  that  the  heavy,  blighting  winds  were 
madly  revelling  amid  the  ruined  splendor  of  golden  days ; 
and  yet  she  was  glad,  though  she  knew  not  why,  that  such 
a  tender,  beautiful  thing  was  her  own ;  and  the  more  closely 
did  she  enfold  it  in  a  warm  embrace,  shielding  it  from  the 
bitter  cold  without,  giving  it  sustenance  from  her  own  body, 
that  it  might  grow  and  flourish  still,  expanding  in  loveliness 
to  the  full,  beautiful  flower. 

This  joy  in  her  new-found  treasure  was  soon  brought  to 
an  end :  for  sorrow  had  been  at  work  too  long,  slowly  but 


OLENWOOD.  118 

surely  making  weaker  her  frame,  and  less  able  to  endure 
the  trial  through  which  she  had  passed.  A  fearful  sickness 
followed,  and  for  many  weary  days  and  nights  there  was  no 
hope  of  life ;  and  so  the  beautiful  bud,  which  was  so  dear 
to  her,  was  taken  away,  that  it  might  not  die.  Very  painful 
was  it  to  be  near  the  sufferer  now ;  for  her  senses  were 
always  wandering ;  ecstatic  blisses  arid  fearful  sorrows  alter- 
nately held  their  sway.  She  often  journeyed,  in  imagina- 
tion, away  into  the  past ;  and  the  overwhelming  grief  at  her 
lover's  death,  and  her  agony  when  driven  from  her  father's 
house,  made  all  weep  who  saw  her.  Every  step  which  she 
took  at  that  fearful  time  of  trial  she  now  went  over  again. 
Objects  of  dread  caused  her  to  flee  from  the  mountain-side, 
trembling  at  the  lightning's  flash  and  the  crash  of  thunders, 
seeking  for  shelter  and  safety  from  the  pelting  storm. 
Hungry,  faint,  and  sick,  she  pursued  her  lonely  journey, 
sleeping  at  night  upon  the  cold  earth,  with  naught  but  the 
"sweet  heavens"  above  her,  radiant  with  the  eyes  of  the 
pitying  stars.  Those  who  had  most  bitterly  censured  were 
silent  now,  and  were  not  ashamed  though  tears  were  seen 
coursing  down  their  cheeks. 

Reason  at  length  returned,  and  then  she  inquired  for  her 
delicate  treasure  (ten-fold  more  dear  because  of  suffering)  ; 
and  when  it  was  brought  to  her,  some  hours  after,  she  looked 
mournfully  yet  lovingly  upon  it,  while  her  lips  moved  in 
prayer.  It  was  soon  taken  again  to  its  temporary  home. 

A  few  days  after,  a  very*  kind-hearted,  benevolent  man 
called,  who  said  that  a  family  of  his  acquaintance,  in  a 
neighboring  town,  whom  he  knew  to  bo  worthy  people,  had 
just  lost  their  only  child,  and  they  would  adopt  this  little 
one,  if  they  could  be  allowed  to  remain  unknown.  The 
10* 


114  GLENWOOD. 

mother,  poor,  sick,  and  helpless,  expecting  soon  to  die,  con« 
sented  to  this  arrangement ;  and  then  her  beautiful  bud  was 
brought  to  her,  that  she  might  fold  it  to  her  bosom  once 
more,  press  upon  it  one  more  kiss,  and  bid  it  farewell.  As 
weak  and  sickly  as  she  was,  she  took  it  in  her  arms  and  held 
it  to  her  heart,  and  gazed  long  and  lovingly  upon  it,  covering 
it  with  kisses ;  and  then,  as  her  newly-summoned  strength 
was  leaving  her  as  rapidly  as  it  came,  she  yielded  up  the 
precious  thing,  turning  away  her  eyes,  too  sad  to  weep,  and 
parted  with  it  on  earth  forever  ! 


CHAPTER    X. 


THE  CUNARDS  MOVE  TO  THE  WEST.  —  ILL-FORTUNE.  -  RETURN.  -  WIL- 
LIE CUNARD.  -  DEATH.  —  WILLIE  A  PAUPER.  -  GLENWOOD  BUYS  A 
POOR-FARM. 


Wymans  lived  in  the  town  of  Yainford  ;  and  some 
ten  miles  from  there,  in  Monson,  there  resided  a  couple  by 
the  'name  of  Cunard.  Ten  years  after  their  wedding-day, 
their  first  and  only  child  was  born.  The  little  stranger  was 
welcomed  most  joyously  by  his  parents,  and  in  him  were 
the  hopes  of  their  hearts  centred  ;  but,  alas  !  those  hopes 
were  born,  like  the  being  who  called  them  into  existence, 
only  to  be  blasted.  When  their  child  was  three  months  old, 
the  death-angel  came  and  removed  it  from  their  sight. 

Mr.  Cunard  was  a  farmer  ;  but  his  farm  was  under  a 
heavy  mortgage,  and,  as  his  health  was  delicate,  both  he  and 
his  wife  thought  it  best  to  sell  their  place,  and  move  to  the 
"West,  where  they  could  purchase  land  and  build  them  a 
cottage,  and  still  have  a  few  hundred  dollars  which  would 
bring  them  twelve  per  cent,  interest.  Under  such  circum- 
stances, they  believed  that  a  better  livelihood  could  be  gained 
than  they  could  hope  for  in  New  England.  Their  babe, 
they  thought,  would  compensate  in  a  measure  for  the  loss  of 
old  friends,  and  be  the  mother's  companion  and  solace  when 
the  husband  and  father  was  absent.  This  day-dream  of 


116  GLENWOOD. 

happiness,  with  the  cherished  one,  was  dissipated  by  its  un- 
timely death ;  and  then  Mrs.  Cunard  felt  how  lonely  she 
should  be  in  her  far-off  home.  It  was  at  this  juncture 
that  they  heard  of  the  circumstances  in  relation  to  Delia ; 
and  they  resolved  to  adopt  the  child,  if  the  mother  would 
give  it  to  them  unreservedly,  and  never  know  into  whose 
hands  she  had  consigned  it. 

When  the  proposition  was  first  made  to  Delia,  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  yield  her  assent ;  but,  being  assured  by 
those  who  had  been  more  than  brother  and  sister  to  her  that 
Mr.  Volens,  the  gentleman  who  was  employed  as  the  agent 
in  the  business,  would  never  be  a  party  to  such  a  trans- 
action, unless  he  knew  that  the  babe  would  be  regarded,  by 
those  who  adopted  it,  as  a  dear  son, —  unless  he  knew  that 
they  were  people  worthy  of  such  a  trust, —  she  reluctantly 
yielded.  Poor,  destitute  mother !  how  could  she  say  no,  be- 
ing so  completely  helpless?  and  those  to  whom  she  looked 
for  every  good  which  she  now  received  advised  her,  if  not 
for  her  own  welfare,  for  the  sake  of  the  child,  who  would 
find  affectionate  and  faithful  parents.  They  told  her  that 
the  longer  she  delayed,  the  older  the  child  became,  the 
dearer  would  it  be  to  her,  and  the  more  difficult  the  separa- 
tion ;  and  it  was  requisite  that  those  who  had  offered  to 
adopt  it  should  have  it  now. 

The  thought  of  never  seeing  it  again,  of  being  kept  in 
ignorance  of  its  welfare,  caused  Delia  to  shrink  away  from 
the  proposition  with  pain.  Mrs.  Wyman  saw  the  struggle, 
and  told  her  that,  if  she  could  not  give  it  up  without  too 
much  suffering,  it  should  remain  with  them,  and,  whether 
she  lived  or  died,  it  should  have  a  home  and  a  mother's  care. 
Delia  felt  that  it  would  not  be  right  to  impose  an  additional 


GLENWOOD.  117 

burthen  upon  these  excellent  people,  who  had  four  little  ones 
of  their  own ;  and  so,  with  much  sorrow  at  her  heart,  she 
yielded  to  circumstances  beyond  her  control. 

The  babe  was  gladly  received  by  its  new  parents,  and 
they  both  declared  that  it  looked  just  like  their  own,  and 
they  felt  that  it  was  to  hold  in  their  affections  the  place  of 
their  lost  one.  Mrs.  Cunard  nourished  it  from  her  own 
breast,  and  ere  long  the  little  stranger  was  as  dear  as  the 
child  which  now  lay  cold  and  silent  in  its  grave. 

In  due  time  all  things  were  arranged,  and  they  started 
for  their  new  home  in  the  West.  They  purchased  land  in 
the  State  of  Illinois ;  but  their  anticipation  of  more  pros- 
perous days  was  not  realized,  for  fortune  was  as  chary  of  its 
favors  as  ever. 

.  Mr.  Cunard  had  hoped  that  a  change  of  climate  would 
restore  him  to  healthy  but,  instead  thereof,  the  fever  and 
ague  soon  ruined  what  he  had.  At  their  new  home  they 
remained  three  years,  gradually  but  surely  dissipating  their 
little  fortune.  When  their  ready  money  was  all  gone,  they 
sold  their  land  for  much  less  than  its  actual  worth,  and  re- 
turned to  New  England.  Not  long  after,  Mr.  Cunard  heard 
of  a  small  farm  in  Glenwood,  which  could  be  purchased  for 
three  hundred  dollars.  It  contained  thirty  acres  of  land, 
much  of  it  very  poor,  and  a  decent  house  and  barn.  He 
immediately  purchased  the  farm,  and  removed  to  Glenwood. 
He  cultivated  the  land  as  well  as  his  shattered  constitution 
would  allow ;  but  he  received  only  poor  returns  for  his  labor, 
and,  as  Mrs.  Cunard's  health  was  also  broken,  they  obtained 
but  a  meagre  support. 

As  soon  as  Delia  had  relinquished  her  child  to  them,  they 
named  it  for  the  one  they  had  lost,  Willie  Cunard.  For  a 


118  GLENWOOD. 

year  and  a  half  he  was  quite  unhealthy,  and  exceedingly 
nervous  ;  but  the  climate  and  the  best  of  care  restored  him, 
so  that  when  they  returned  to  New  England  he  was  a  rosy- 
cheeked,  blue-eyed  child, —  a  dimpled,  lovely  cherub,  as  one 
would  care  to  see.  Mrs.  Cunard  had  much  tact  in  using  a 
little  so  that  it  answered  the  purpose  of  an  abundance ;  and 
she  always  kept  Willie  tidy  and  neat,  all  his  garments  made 
in  the  best  of  taste.  Thus  cared  for,  and  so  dearly  loved, 
a  winning  smile  played  upon  his  countenance,  revealing  the 
deep  dimples  in  his  cheeks,  causing  everybody  who  loved 
children  to  notice  him,  and  speak  a  kind  word,  or  give  him  a 
caress.  The  little  girls,  some  years  older,  all  thought  him 
a  perfect  love  of  a  child.  These  things  made  Willie  very 
happy,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  think  that  his  home  was  poor, 
or  that  his  parents  found  it  a  severe  task  to  obtain  the  neces- 
saries of  life.  He  knew  that  his  ne^ds  were  well  supplied, 
and  he  was  not  old  enough  to  fear  the  insidious  destroyer, 
which  would  ere  long  fill  his  cup  with  bitterness.  He  could 
not  realize  that  his  happy  days  were  to  end  so  soon. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cunard  continued  to  struggle  on ;  but  the 
health  of  both  was  every  day  growing  more  precarious, 
demonstrating  that  they  would  speedily  know  the  horror  of 
biting  poverty.  All  too  soon  it  came,  and  now  Willie  often 
went  tearful  to  bed,  because  there  was  no  food  to  satisfy  his 
hunger.  His  clothes  gradually  became  soiled  and  ragged, 
for  his  mother  was  too  sick  to  keep  them  clean  and  in  good 
repair.  Is  it  any  marvel  that,  in  a  brief  period,  people 
ceased  to  regard  him  as  beautiful?  The  roses  left  his 
cheeks,  the  smile  fled  from  his  eyes,  and  that  winning,  joy- 
ous expression  was  superseded  by  one  of  painful  sadness. 
0  f  it  was  cruel  to  his  young  heart  to  exchange  those  fond 


QLENWOOD.  119 

caresses,  those  kind  words  and  glances  of  love,  for  bitter 
taunts,  averted  looks,  derisive  smiles,  and  insults,  because 
of  his  poverty.  A  little  while  before,  and  the  children 
would  gladly  leave  their  play  and  their  friends,  if  they 
might  have  the  privilege  of  walking  with  him,  and  leading 
him  by  the  hand.  Now  they  called  him  the  beggar-boy, — 
the  rag-man's  son, —  and  turned  back  the  current  of  his 
warm  aifections  upon  his  heart,  cold  as  ice. 

When  Willie  was  six  years  old,  Mr.  Cunard  died ;  and  in 
less  than  one  year  after,  Mrs.  Cunard  was  also  laid  in  the 
silent  grave,  leaving  poor  Willie  alone.  He  wept  much 
when  his  father  died,  but  now  as  though  his  heart  would 
break.  The  last  year  had  been  one  of  cruel  suffering  ;  but 
the  little  boy  felt,  when  he  heard  the  cold  sods  falling  upon 
his  mother's  coffin,  that  he  would  willingly  live  on  and 
suffer  as  he  had  done,  if  she  could  be  restored  to  him. 

Mrs.  Cunard,  in  her  last  days,  had  thought  much  of  Wil- 
lie, and  she  queried  whether  she  should  tell  him  that  he  was 
not  her  child.  And  then  she  felt  that  it  would  do  no  good, 
and  only  add  to  his  sorrows ;  and  so  she  died,  commend- 
ing the  orphan  to  the  care  of  the  great  Father  of  us  all. 

The  farm  on  which  the  Cunards  lived  was  mortgaged  for 
its  full  value,  and  Willie  was  provided  with  a  home  by  the 
selectmen  of  the  town.  Mr.  Bumford  took  him  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  year,  for  fifty  cents  a  week,  the  town  to 
furnish  him  ;i  new  suit  of  clothes. 

During  this  time  the  support  of  the  paupers  had  been 
regularly  sold ;  they  finding  such  homes  as  might  be  expected 
under  such  a  system. 

The  Slushers  had  secured  the  services  of  Margaret  Bum- 
ford,  everv  season  since  she  became  a.  pauper,  until  the  last ; 


120  GLENWOOD. 

aad  then,  much  to  her  satisfaction,  she  was  taken  by  Deacon 
Glubbings  for  a  very  small  compensation,  he  being  influ- 
enced by  a  desire  for  her  welfare'  alone.  The  Slushers  had 
abused  her,  year  after  year ;  and  Mrs.  Glubbings  had  been 
her  true  friend,  feeding  her  when  hungry,  and  speaking 
words  of  comfort  when  her  trials  seemed  too  heavy  to  be 
borne.  She  had  pleaded  with  the  latter  to  urge  her  husband 
to  bid  her  off,  and  if  he  received  small  remuneration  from  the 
town,  she  would  work  the  more  diligently.  They  pitied  her, 
but  they  would  rather  not  have  her  in  the  family ;  for  they 
had  young  children,  and  she  might  make  trouble  with  them, 
and  in  many  respects  be  a  sore  annoyance.  But  the  Slush- 
ers were  so  outrageously  inhuman  that  they  resolved  that 
Margaret  should  not  remain  there  any  longer ;  and  on  the 
next  town-meeting  day  she  was  knocked  off  to  the  deacon 
at  twenty-one  cents  a  week. 

Johnny  Pendwick  was  now  dead.  Anger,  mortification, 
and  grief,  had  killed  him.  He  felt  that  his  brother  had  not 
only  forgotten  the  claims  of  blood,  but  most  wickedly  robbed 
him  of  the  home  which  was  rightly  his.  He  could  not 
tamely  endure  the  usage  he  received  as  a  pauper — the 
indignity  of  being  vendued,  sold,  and  treated  like  a  slave. 
Fearful  was  the  hatred  he  felt  for  the  one  who  was  the  cause 
of  his  misfortunes,  and  he  cursed  him  with  his  last  breath. 

This  was  a  happy  year  for  Margaret  Bumford  —  the  hap- 
piest she  had  known  since  her  mother's  death;  and  she  tried 
to  faithfully  serve  those  who  had  taken  her  to  their  home 
solely  for  her  good.  Now  and  then  she  was  disobedient  and 
extremely  saucy ;  but  kindness  invariably  softened  and  sub- 
dued her,  and  she  would  beg  their  forgiveness,  declaring  that 
she  was  sorry  she  had  been  so  wicked,  and  promise  never  tt 


GLEN  WO  OD. 

disobey  again,  beseeching  them  to  let  her  live  with  them 
always.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Glubbings  treated  her  with  humanity 
and  Christian  kindness ;  and  the  children  were  taught  to 
show  her  proper  respect,  and  never  by  word  or  action  to 
wound  her  feelings.  She  was  not  ungrateful,  and  ever  after 
said  that  they  were  the  best  people  in  the  world. 

Willie  Cunard  found  but  an  indifferent  home  at  Mr.  Bum- 
ford's.  He  had  plenty  to  eat,  and  there  was  a  sufficiency  of 
piety,  such  as  it  was, —  praying  and  exhorting,  but  a  lack  of 
true  humanity  and  Christian  kindness.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bum- 
ford  had  nothing  genial  about  them  ;  their  home  seemed  cold, 
for  they  both  carried  long,  cadaverous  faces,  and  fancied 
that  laughter  came  from  the  evil  one  himself.  Willie  was 
well  clothed  now ;  but  he  felt  every  day  that  he  would  will- 
ingly  take  his  rags  and  scanty  food,  if  he  could  have  his 
mother  restored  to  him. 

The  winter,  this  year,  set  in  very  early,  and  ere  long 
four  persons  were  added  to  the  town's  poor.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Clasker,  an  aged  couple,  nearly  seventy ;  Widow  Gunimede, 
seventy-three,  somewhat  broken;  and  Hector  Stifels,  a 
young  man  half  idiotic,  whose  mother  had  just  died  —  she 
had  never  been  a  wife. 

It  was  now  determined  to  have  a  poor-house ;  and  a  meet- 
ing was  called  for  that  purpose,  at  which  it  was  voted  to 
purchase  a  farm,  which  was  done  forthwith.  The  wise  com- 
mittee chosen  to  perform  the  business,  of  whom  Mr.  Blossom 
was  chairman,  manifested  their  superior  wisdom  by  pur- 
chasing a  farm  in  a  neighboring  town,  because  it  was  cheap. 
It  was  in  justification  of  this  act  of  the  committee  that  Mr. 
Blossom  made  the  remark,  u  If  people  will  throw  them- 
selves upon  the  town,  why,  then  they  must  expect  to  be  taker 
11 


122  GLENWOOD 


care  of  as  cheaply  as  common  decency  will  allow ;  "  and  in 
Glenwood  this  had  always  been  the  policy  of  the  people, 
though  I  am  happy  to  say  that  in  later  years  a  better 
spirit  than  this  has  been  manifested  by  very  many.  May 
others  copy  their  example  ! 

When  the  town-meeting  was  held,  all  the  paupers  in  Glen- 
wood  were  transported ;  not  one  was  left  behind.  Margaret, 
with  many  tears,  left  Deacon  Glubbings ;  and  poor  Willie  was 
hustled  off,  with  the  rest,  to  the  poor-farm,  in  Sklintonbog. 

This  was.  an  era  to  the  {own  of  Glenwood.  No  paupers 
were  vendued  —  the  support  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
sold  to  the  lowest  bidder.  Was  not  that  something  to  be 
proud  of?  Certainly,  for  had  not  the  people  purchased  a 
farm  in  Sklintonbog  with  no  other  object  in  view  except- 
ing the  maintenance  of  the  poor  ?  What  more  would  you 
have  a  Christian  community  do  ? 

At  this  meeting  a  number  of  important  things  were  dis- 
cussed, and  one  was  whether  a  pauper  did  actually  require 
tea  and  coffee.  Mr.  Gregg  made  one  of  his  famous  prosy 
speeches,  in  which  he  nsserted  that  tea  and  coffee  were  lux- 
uries, and  the  town  could  not  afford  to  furnish  luxuries  for 
the  paupers ;  and  it  was  voted  that  no  tea  and  coffee  should 
be  provided  for  the  alms-house,  except  for  the  use  of  the 
master  and  his  family.  Mr.  Bumpus  was  appointed  poor- 
master,  and,  to  the  great  regret  of  his  gossiping  daughter, 
removed  from  town,  to  take  care  of  the  town's  poor.  Ara- 
bella Mehitable  said  that  she  was  very  glad  the  paupers  had 
left  town,  but  she  thought  it  hard  that  the  best  people  should 
go  witn  them. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ILLUSIONS   OF   THE    INVALID.— MORNING    HAS    COME. PLEASURES    AND 

DUTIES    OF    A   GOOD    HOME. SICKNESS    AND    DEATH    AT    THE    COTTAGE. 

THE  night  after  Delia  had  consented  to  give  away  her 
child,  her  symptoms  were  more  unfavorable  than  they  had 
been  for  some  days  previous,  and  her  mind  was  again  wan- 
dering. She  seemed  to  fancy  herself  on  a  journey,  and  the 
thick  darkness  had  come,  so  that  she  knew  not  which  way 
to  go,  and  yet  she  must  continue  on.  Now  she  was  care- 
fully groping  for  the  way ;  and  then,  with  a  wild  shriek,  she 
thought  she  had  fallen  from  a  precipice,  and  lay  wounded 
and  bleeding  among  the  rocks,  trying  to  regain  her  feet,  but 
in  vain ;  and  she  would  moan  and  weep,  as  if  all  hope  had 
departed ;  but  suddenly  her  eyes  would  brighten,  and  she 
would  wildly  clap  her  hands,  exclaiming,  "It  is  the  dark- 
est just  before  the  day  !  The  light !  the  light !  " 

These  paroxysms  of  terror,  followed  with  gleams  of  hope, 
continued  all  that  night,  and  the  next  day,  and  until  nearly 
morning  the  succeeding  night.  She  was  often  searching  for 
a  lost  treasure,  a  treasure  so  precious  that  her  heart  was 
wrung  with  agony  at  its  loss.  Earnestly  did  she  seek  for  it, 
but  seek  in  vain.  Now  she  was  exceedingly  troubled  to  under- 
stand what  the  treasure  was  ;  but  by  and  by  she  would  cry 
out,  in  piercing  tones,  "  My  child  !  my  child  !  " 


124  GLEN  WOOD. 

Just  before  the  morning  had  dawned  of  the  second  night, 
it  seemed,  to  her  bewildered  senses,  darker  than  it  had  ever 
been  before.  "  0,  how  dark  ! "  she  said  ;  "  no  light  can  pierce 
such  terrible  shadows  !  The  sun  in  the  heavens  is  buried  in 
them  forever  —  lost !  lost !  0  !  it  is  so  dark  that  it  stands 
up  around  me,  like  a  wall,  and  I  cannot  push  it  away  —  I 
—  I  can  —  cannot  —  cannot  breathe  —  here  —  I  —  I  am 
suffocating  !  0  !  for  light  —  for  air  !  I  shall  die  !  "  And 
then,  with  a  wild  laugh,  she  exclaimed : 

"It  is  the  darkest  just  before  the  day!  but  the  morning 
will  come  !  Light  there !  Light  in  the  rosy  east !  0, 
j°y  •'  j°J  •  The  shadows  are  moving  away  like  mountains. 
Coming  !  Coming !  It  is  he  !  Not  far  away  !  Welcome ! 
Welcome,  dearest !  I  knew  you  would  come  !  This  faithful 
heart  all  mine — will  I  go?  Yes  !  yes  !  Thine  —  thine, 
forever ! "  And,  with  a  most  heavenly  expression,  the  weary 
one  exclaimed  slowly,  but  full  of  hope, 

' '  It  was  the  darkest  before  the  day,  but  the  morning  has 
come !  "  And  those  sweet  black  eyes  closed,  the  crazed 
senses  wandered  no  more  in  the  valley  of  shadows ;  for  the 
suffering  one  was  at  rest,  the  night  had  passed  away,  and 
the  morning  had  come.  Not  the  brief,  beautiful  mornings 
of  earth,  but  the  light  of  eternity  had  dawned ;  and  there 
was  no  more  darkness  for  her,  for  there  is  "no  night 
there." 

Tears  of  genuine  sorrow  were  shed  around  that  silent 
bed.  Manly  tears  mingled  with  woman's,  and  little  chil- 
dren wept,  that  the  beautiful  stranger,  who  came  to  them 
hungry  and  faint,  who  so  thankfully  partook  of  their  child- 
ish hospitality,  was  so  soon  lost  to  them  forever ;  and  the 
young  women  of  the  neighborhood,  who  had  uttered  bitter 


GLENWOOD.  125 

words  of  censure  in  relation  to  Delia,  and  those  who  had 
befriended  her,  came  in  and  looked  upon  the  beautiful  pale 
one,  and  they  also  wept. 

On  the  day  when  the  last  offices  of  love  and  humanity 
were  performed,  the  aged  and  the  young  gazed  on  that  fair, 
marble  face,  which  had  been  so  often  washed  with  tears, 
with  wonder,  so  very  beautiful,  so  angelic,  was  the  smile 
which  rested  there,  as  though  unwilling  to  leave  a  counte- 
nance so  lovely  —  the  smile  which  she  caught  from  heaven, 
when  its  gates  opened  to  send  forth  her  own  dear  one  to 
welcome  the  sufferer  home.  It  was  a  time  when  her  sin 
was  forgotten,  and  her  wrongs  remembered,  and  the  true 
Christian  kindness  of  those  who  had  received  her,  and  were 
so  faithful  when  all  the  world  was  so  ready  to  censure  their 
motives. 

Delia  was  buried  in  the  little  cemetery  of  Yamford,  and 
the  spot  was  marked  by  a  small  white  stone,  with  the  sim- 
ple inscription,  "Delia." 

It  was  erected  by  the  Wymans,  and  for  all  their  good 
deeds,  so  pure  and  ennobling,  these  excellent  people  found 
the  reward  in  the  consciousness  of  having  done  to  the 
stranger  as  they,  in  like  circumstances,  would  have  had  done 
unto  them.  Trouble  and  expense  she  brought  them ;  but 
the  joy  that  stirred  their  hearts,  whenever  they  thought 
of  her,  recompensed  them  an  hundred-fold.  If  there  was 
anything  which  caused  regret,  it  was  the  advice  they  gave 
her  in  relation  to  her  child.  She  loved  it  so  dearly,  that  now 
it  seemed  cruel  to  have  urged  her  to  give  it  up.  They  some- 
times wished  they  had  adopted  it  as  their  own.  They  felt 
that  for  her  to  part  with  it  then  was  too  much  for  her  weak 
frame  to  bear,  and  perchance  hastened  the  hour  of  disso- 
11* 


126  GLENWOOD. 

lution.  But  they  knew  that  they  had  done  what  they 
thought  best  at  the  time,  and  conscience  reproved  them  not. 
Could  they  have  known  what  the  future  of  that  orphan  one 
should  be,  their  sorrow  would  have  been  bitter  indeed. 

Delia's  grave  was  a  spot  which  the  Wymans  loved  to 
visit ;  and  those  beautiful  children  planted  there  the  choicest 
flowers,  and  they  were  kept  fresh  and  blooming  through  all 
the  summer  months.  Other  graves  have  since  borne  the 
lone  stranger  company,  for  dear  ones  slept  with  her,  side 
by  side ;  and  there  were  more  flowers  —  flowers  which  were 
watered  with  tears  !  0  !  how  true  it  is, 

"  There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ; 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 
But  has  one  vacant  chair  !  " 

?  And  such  is  life! — the  old  must  die,  and  the  young  may. 
It  seems  meet  that  the  aged  should  be  gathered  in,  like  a 
ripe  sheaf  of  corn,  for  their  work  on  earth  is  done.  But  it 
is  sad  to  see  the  rosy-cheeked  child  cut  down,  the  promising 
young  girl,  just  bursting  into  womanhood,  or  man  or  wom- 
an in  the  very  strength  and  pride  of  life.  There  is  mys- 
tery here ;  but  let  us  wait ! 

Two  years  have  flown  since  Delia  Gregg  went  joyously 
to  the  spirit-land,  the  light  of  eternity's  morning  breaking 
in  upon  her  soul.  Twice  has  the  summer,  with  its  golden 
splendors,  come  and  gone,  bringing  its  blessings,  and  teach- 
ing its  lessons  ;  twice  has  young  spring  smiled,  and  autumn 
glories  crowned  the  dying  year ;  twice  has  winter  reigned 
over  the  earth,  and  now  for  the  third  time  has  he  subdued 
it,  with  his  army  of  frost-spirits,  to  his  iron  rule.  Reader, 


GLENWOOD.  127 

go  irith  me  to  Yamford.  It  is  a  cold  evening,  clear  and 
frosty,  the  snow  lies  deep  upon  the  ground,  and  the  crescent 
moon  sweeps  proudly  through  the  heavens,  filling  the  world 
with  its  pale,  cold  light,  while  the  stars  twinkle  and  glitter,  as 
though  coquetting  with  the  snowy  crystals  that  glisten  like 
gems  upon  the  earth.  You  are  near  the  cottage  of  the  Wy- 
mans,  and  its  red  eyes  are  looking  out  warmly,  and  inviting 
you  to  enter.  The  temptation  cannot  be  resisted,  and  you 
soon  find  yourself  in  the  pleasant  sitting-room,  where  a 
bright  fire  is  burning,  and  the  good  happy  family  forming 
a  circle  around  it.  The  father  sits  by  the  table  reading  the 
late  paper ;  the  mother  holds  in  her  arms  a  little  child,  but 
a  few  weeks  old.  The  tiny,  helpless  thing  is  asleep,  and 
she  is  watching  her  new  treasure,  her  face  brightening,  and 
those  clear  gray  eyes  looking  sweetly  beautiful,  as  she  sees 
a  little  smile  pass  over  the  sleeping  infant's  face.  She  is 
happy,  all  are  happy,  that  they  have  another  son  and 
brother.  The  good  grandmother  is  holding  little  Arthur, 
—  her  pet,  as  she  calls  him,  now  two  years  old  ;  and  the  other 
children,  all  but  the  eldest,  who  is  reading  her  Sunday- 
school  book,  are  sitting  close  to  her,  and  she  is  telling  them 
of  the  rat  that  lost  his  long  tail,  "Little  Red  Riding 
Hood,"  and  other  stories,  which  they  think  wonderfully 
strange  and  interesting.  When  they  have  heard  stories 
enough,  Jeannie,  who  can  talk  plainer  now,  says : 

"  I  wish  we  could  have  some  pop-corn  !  "  And  Franky 
said,  "  So  do  I;  and  some  apples,  too  !" 

"  And  you  shall  be  gratified,  darlings,"  said  the  grand- 
mother. "  Flora,  will  you  lay  down  your  book,  and  go 
and  bring  a  few  ears  of  the  pop-corn,  and  then  get  the 
popper  ?  " 


128  GLENWOOD. 

"Yes,  grandma,"  was  the  reply;  and  they  were  soon  on 
hand. 

"  Now,  Franky,  you  take  the  light,  and  go  down  cellar 
and  bring  up  some  of  those  nice  Baldwin  apples,  and  your 
father  will  pop  the  corn." 

The  apples  were  soon  brought,  and  Mr.  Wyman  laid 
down  the  paper,  and  in  a  short  time  there  was  a"  large  dish 
of  corn,  white  and  nice,  waiting  to  be  eaten ;  and  now  all 
but  Mrs.  Wyman  join  in  the  feast,  happy  as  an  abun- 
dance of  earthly  things,  and  good,  thankful  hearts,  can 
make  them.  Mrs.  Wyman  sat  looking,  now  at  her  sleeping 
babe,  and  then  gazing  fondly  upon  the  rest  of  her  loved 
ones,  so  well  and  happy,  breathing  thanks  to  Heaven  for  so 
many  cherished  blessings.  A  few  moments  after,  and  Mr. 
Wyman  noticed  that  her  face  wore  the  expression  of  deep, 
and  somewhat  painful  thought.  When  he  caught  her  eye, 
he  said : 

"What  is  it,  Carra?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  she  replied  (and  now  all  eyes 
and  ears  were  turned  to  her,  for  she  had  been  sitting  a  long 
time  in  silence),  "  that  we  have  greater  reason,  every  day, 
to  be  thankful  to  kind  Heaven  for  so  much  good." 

"So  we  have,"  replied  her  mother.  "I  have  lived  a 
great  while,  seen  many  troubles,  buried  children  and  a  dear 
husband ;  and  yet  I  have  renewed  reasons  to  be  thankful, 
and  my  heart  is  as  fresh  and  full  of  gratitude  to-night  as  it 
ever  was.  Here  are  my  loved  ones,  and  here  my  heart  is 
at  rest." 

"It  is  cheering,"  said  Mr.  Wyman,  "to  see  people 
happy,  but  especially  in  old  age.  How  wondrously  beau- 
tiful is  a  sunset  sky,  kindling  the  soul  with  transport 


GLENWOOD.  129 

and  praise  !  The  sun  sinks  wrapt  in  its  own  glory,  paint- 
ing the  horizon  with  gold,  which  the  dusky  fingers  of 
evening  slowly  change  to  blue.  Now,  all  this  varying 
splendor  prepares  the  mind  for  the  shadows  of  night,  so 
that  the  evening  is  welcomed  with  joy." 

"And  I  trust,"  said  Mrs.  Motley,  "to  be  prepared  to 
greet  the  shadows  of  death  with  a  calm  smile  of  hope, 
catching  glimpses  of  a  brighter  sky  and  a  more  glorious  sun 
beyond." 

"  That  you  will,  I  doubt  not,"  said  Mr.  Wyman ;  "for  it 
must  be  so  with  all  the  faithful.  Like  poor  Delia,  you  will 
exclaim,  '  The  morning  has  come  ! ' 

"  I  had  been  thinking  of  Delia,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman, 
"  and  the  little  one  which  she  so  reluctantly  confided  to  the 
care  of  strangers." 

"And  what  were  your  thoughts,  dear ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Wyman. 

"I  was  thinking,  while  I  gazed  upon  my  own  happy 
ones,  that  it  might  have  been  better  if  we  had  kept  the 
babe,  and  adopted  it  as  our  own.  It  would  have  added  only 
one  more  to  the  group.  And  while  such  were  my  thoughts, 
I  seemed  to  see  him  here,  with  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair, 
with  the  clear  complexion  of  his  handsome  mother,  and 
those  very  deep  and  exquisitely  lovely  dimples  in  his 
cheeks  and  chin.  He  was  not  a  stranger,  here,  but  one  of 
the  family;  and  he  appeared  so  lovely  and  happy,  that  I  was 
aboulrto  call  him  tome,  that  I  might  press  him  to  my  heart, 
as  I  had  often  done  his  mother.  But  the  scene  suddenly 
changed,  and  he  had  grown  larger ;  but  he  was  no  longer 
beautiful,  for  he  looked  as  though  but  half  fed,  his 
clothes  were  ragged  and  filthy,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 


130  GLENWOOD. 

other  children  slighted  him.  Those  who  had  loved  him 
most  now  treated  him  with  scorn.  At  this  moment  some- 
thing arrested  my  attention,  and  when  I  lifted  my  eyes  I 
observed  your  inquiring  gaze,  and  the  vision  all  passed 
away." 

"That  is  just  like  you,"  said  her  mother;  "you  had 
been  asleep.  When  you  was  a  child  you  used  to  fall  asleep 
just  in  that  way ;  and  then  you  would  dream,  and  as  soon 
as  you  awoke  insist  that  you  had  seen  a  marvelous  vision  ; 
and  you  would  go  on  and  tell  all  about  it,  and  relate  some 
very  strange  and  beautiful  things." 

"  I  remember  it,  mother ;  but,  as  I  always  told  you,  I  was 
not  asleep,  and  I  have  not  slept  to-night  —  I  am  sure  of 
that.  And,  mother  "  (and  Mrs.  Wy man's  face  seemed  to 
glow  with  beauty  almost  angelic),  "do  you  recollect  the 
evening  when  I  described  such  a  scene  as  this,  and  when  I 
told  you  that  I  plainly  saw  you,  but  could  not  see  father?  " 

' '  Yes,  yes,  child ;  but  it  might  have  been  a  dream,  for  all 
that,  and  a  mere  coincidence." 

"So  it  might,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Wyman ;  "but  you 
seem  to  doubt  it  somewhat,  and  so  do  I.  I  hope,  however, 
that  what  she  fancied  she  saw  to-night  may  prove,  in  the 
end,  no  more  than  a  dream." 

"I  hope  so  too,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman,  "but  I  have 
my  doubts.  The  people  who  adopted  Delia's  child  cannot 
have  any  reasonable  objection  to  our  knowing  what  his 
fate  is." 

"Why  should  they  have  objected  to  his  mother's  know- 
ing?" inquired  Mrs.  Motley. 

"  Because,"  replied  Mrs.  Wyman,  "  they  had  known  of 
a  family,  so  Mr.  Volens  said,  who  had  adopted  a  little  girl, 


GLENWOOD.  131 

whom  they  loved  dearly,  and  treated  like  a  darling  child  ; 
and  yet  the  mother,  when  the  child  was  older,  gave  them  a 
great  deal  of  trouble." 

"  I  have  heard  of  such  cases,"   said  Mr.  Wyman. 

"  They  cannot  be  afraid,"  Mrs.  Wyman  continued,  "that 
we  shall  ever  trouble  them,  if  they  deal  justly  with  the 
boy ;  and  therefore  it  is  our  duty  to  learn  who  they  are,  and 
if  they  are  faithful  to  their  promise." 

"Your  remarks,  Carra,  are  perfectly  just,"  said  Mr. 
Wyman;  "and  I  will  take  my  horse,  to-morrow  morning, 
and  go  and  call  upon  Mr.  Volens,  and  see  what  I  can  learn." 

"I  remember  that  pretty  little  baby,"  said  Jeannie; 
"  and  I  thought  it  would  be  so  nice  to  keep  it,  and  have  it 
grow  up  with  Arthur,  and  be  just  as  big !  " 

"And  I  do,  too,  don't  I,  drand-marm?"  said  little 
Arthur. 

A  hearty  laugh  was  the  little  boy's  answer,  which  so 
mortified  him  that  he  had  a  great  mind  to  cry.  A  few 
consoling  words  healed  the  slight  wound. 

"I  hope  you  will  find  him,"  said  Franky ;  "and,  if  he 
has  not  a  good  home,  you  will  bring  him  here,  won't  you, 
father?" 

"  Yes,  Franky,  I  certainly  will,  if  the  thing  is  possible. 
But,  if  I  do,  I  shall  not  buy  any  more  sweetmeats  than  I  do 
now,  and  you  would  have  to  give  him  half  of  yours." 

"0  !  no,  you  wouldn't,  neither,  Franky,"  said  Jeannie, 
"  for  I  would  let  him  have  some  of  mine." 

"And  mine,  too,"  said  little  Arthur. 

Flora  now  looked  up  from  her  book,  and  said:  "And  1 
should  rather  give  up  all  my  share,  a  thousand  times,  than 
to  have  him  abused." 


132  GLENWOOD. 

"And  so  should  I,"  said  the  other  three. 

"  Precious,  precious  ones  !  "  said  Mrs.  Wyman;  "  selfish- 
ness is  no  part  of  your  nature,  and  so  you  will  always  do 
good,  and  be  happy  !  " 

It  was  now  time  that  the  children  should  retire ;  and  so, 
with  a  mutual  kiss  all  round,  they  said  good-night,  and  the 
careful  grandmother,  who  loved  and  was  as  proud  of  these  as 
she  ever  was  of  her  own,  went  with  them,  and  covered  them 
up  warm,  carefully  tucking  in  the  clothes  at  their  backs ; 
after  which  she  took  the  light,  and  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room. 

In  the  morning,  Mr.  Wyman  harnessed  his  horse,  and 
rode  to  the  other  part  of  the  town,  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing the  requisite  inquiries ;  when,  to  his  surprise,  he  learned 
that  Mr.  Volens  had  left  town,  some  months  previous,  with 
the  intention  of  settling  somewhere  in  the  far  West ;  but  his 
neighbors  did  not  know  where,  and  that  was  all  he  could 
learn  of  the  matter.  This  was  a  sad  disappointment  to 
Mrs.  Wyman  and  the  children ;  for  the  latter  had  great 
hopes  that  the  little  boy  would  come  and  live  with  them ; 
and  the  former  was  anxious  to  know  whether  he  had  a 
good  home,  and,  if  he  had  not,  was  as  willing  to  give  him 
one  as  she  had  been  to  receive  his  poor,  wronged  mother. 
But  Mrs.  Wyman  had  too  much  good  sense,  and  understood 
too  well  the  true  philosophy  of  life,  to  allow  such  things  to 
continually  make  her  unhappy ;  and  so,  with  faith  that  it 
would  all  come  out  right  at  last,  she  was  content  to  let  the 
mystery  remain  until  time  should  solve  it.  Not  that  she 
would  forget  or  be  false  to  the  calls  of  duty,  but  be  recon- 
ciled to  what  she  could  not  help.  In  this  her  husband  and 


QLENWOOD.  133 

mother  were  agreed,  and  so  they  went  on  the  even  tenor  of 
their  way. 

During  the  winter,  Mr.  Wyman,  as  was  his  custom, 
and  as  good  farmers  always  do,  with  the  help  of  hia 
hired  man  cut  and  brought  up  to  his  door  a  large  pile 
of  the  best  of  wood ;  and  then  it  was  all-  cut  the  right 
length,  neatly  piled  up,  and  the  chips  raked  together; 
and  so  nothing  was  lost,  and  everything  was  in  ex- 
cellent order.  In  the  spring,  the  ploughing  and  planting 
were  done,  and  Franky  dropped  corn  and  potatoes  for  the 
first  time,  aided  by  Flora,  who  thought  it  pleasant  now  and 
then  to  be  out  in  the  fields,  engaged  in  some  light  employ- 
ment. Summer  followed  with  the  haying,  and  autumn 
with  the  golden  harvests,  when  the  children  had  parties  in 
the  grape-vine  arbor,  as  the  little  Wymans  called  it,  and  the 
large  clusters  of  luscious  grapes  were  plucked  and  eaten 
with  the  keen  relish  and  enjoyment  of  childhood.  Ere  long 
old  winter  came  again,  and  the  pleasures  of  home  had  now  a 
greater  zest  than  in  the  summer  time. 

It  was  seldom  that  an  unkind  word  was  spoken  by  any 
member  of  this  excellent  family,  and  the  children  had  never 
known  what  it  was  personally  to  fear  the  rod.  They  loved 
their  parents  and  each  other ;  and  such  had  been  their  edu- 
cation, by  precept  and  example,  that  mean  selfishness  had 
not  taken  root  in  their  hearts.  Such  scenes  as  these  were 
not  unfrequent : 

"Flora,"  said  her  mother,  "will  you  go  and  get  me  a 
basket  of  chips?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  she  replied. 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Franky,  "  for  Flora  has  been  at  work 

ironing,  these  two  hours." 
12 


184  GLENWOOD. 

"  I  am  not  very  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  I  can  do  it  as  well 
as  not." 

"So  can  I,"  said  Franky,  "and  a  great  deal  better 
than  that." 

"  I  have  not  done  any  work  to-day,"  said  Jeannie,  "but 
Flora  has  been  at  work  nearly  all  the  time ;  so  I  will  go  with 
Franky,  and  help  him  bring  in  the  basket." 

Such  strife  as  this  warmed  and  enlarged  their  hearts,  and 
made  them  love  each  other  the  more  dearly.  So  anxious 
were  they  to  do  right,  that  they  had  no  disposition  to  shirk, 
but  each  one  strove  to  perform  his  or  her  part.  If  the  op- 
posite had  been  practised,  how  it  would  have  marred  the 
beauty  of  their  home  !  The  happiness  of  the  family  circle 
is  too  often  destroyed  by  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  younger 
members  to  avoid,  if  possible,  their  share  of  the  daily  duties 
of  life.  The  great  fear,  so  often  manifested,  of  doing  one 
thing  more  than  the  brother  or  sister,  causes  contention 
every  day,  and  ultimately  fills  the  heart  with  envy,  hatred, 
and  bitterness.  How  very  different  would  have  been  the  home 
of  the  Wymans,  if  those  children  had  been  as  selfish  as 
many  are  !  Flora  would  have  said,  "  Let  Franky  do  it ;  I 
am  so  tired  !  "  and  Franky,  "  I  can't,  but  Jeannie  will !  " 
and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

The  following  spring,  there  were  sickness  and  death  at 
the  cottage,  taking  away  loved  ones,  filling  that  sweet  home 
with  tears,  anguish,  and  gloom.  The  epidemic  known  by 
the  name  of  measles  broke  out  among  the  children  of  the 
school,  and  the  five  little  Wymans  were  all  sick  at  the  same 
time.  It  was  a  terrible  season  of  trial,  such  as  this  family 
had  never  known  before.  On  the  second  week  of  Flora's 
sickness  her  symptoms  became  suddenly  alarming,  her 


GLENWOOD.  135 

senses  were  wandering,  and  ere  long  her  journey  on  earth 
was  ended.  "  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  said,  and,  silently, 
her  life-bark  floated  away  to  the  haven  of  rest ;  and  the 
loving,  the  faithful,  warm-hearted  Flora,  went  home  !  Two 
days  after,  the  little  babe,  the  youngest  of  the  flock,  passed 
away, —  he  too  went  home,  and  both  were  laid  by  the  side 
of  Delia.  There  was  mourning  in  the  cottage  now,  but  not 
without  hope ;  great  grief,  but  not  despair ;  tears  would 
flow,  but  there  was  reconciliation.  Those  parents  felt,  and 
so  did  the  grandparent,  that  there  were  three  dear  little 
ones  on  earth,  and  two  in  heaven. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  afflicting  dispensation,  before 
the  other  children  were  well  again,  and  quiet  happiness 
returned  to  the  hearts  and  home  of  this  bereaved  family. 
They  bore  with  patience  what  they  could  not  help,  and 
were  resigned  to  the  will  of  Heaven.  All  seemed  to  under- 
stand it  but  Arthur.  He  would  occasionally  ask  what  they 
dad  done  with  baby,  and  wish  every  day  that  Flora  would 
come  home.  He  thought  her  cruel  to  stay  from  him  so 
long.  But,  as  time  passed  away,  he  gradually  forgot  his 
loss,  and  ceased  to  inquire  for  the  absent  ones.  Mrs.  Wyman 
was  the  greatest  sufferer,  for  her  affections  were  so  deep 
and  she  had  such  bright  hopes  for  Flora.  Her  husband, 
mother,  and  children,  knew  well  that  her  anguish  was  most 
intense ;  and  they  sought  the  more  earnestly  to  manifest 
their  love,  and  give  her  consolation.  And  now  she  felt  that 
they  never  were  so  dear  to  her  before ;  that  she  had  not 
known  their  true  worth ;  and  so  peace  came  to  that  deeply- 
afflicted  heart. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  BtJMPUS  FAMILY. COMPLAINTS  OF   THE   PAUPERS. MR.  GREGG  VIS- 
ITS  THE   ALMS-HOUSE. MRS.    GUNIMEDE. WILLIE'S    TROUBLES. 

THE  farm  in  Sklintonbog  which  was  purchased  for  the 
poor  of  Glenwood  did  not  prove  a  profitable  speculation  for 
the  town.  The  land  was  not  only  covered  with  rocks  and 
bushes,  but  it  was  worn  out ;  and,  though  the  paupers  were 
compelled  to  labor  diligently,  the  crops  did  not  half  sup- 
port them.  There  was  much  trouble  between  the  poor-master, 
his  wife  and  daughter,  and  the  paupers.  Mr.  Bumpus  had 
been  seeking  for  an  office  all  his  life,  and  he  fancied  that  he 
had  reached  the  goal  at  last.  He  was  now  the  master  of 
the  poor ;  and  he  felt  his  consequence  not  a  little ;  and  Mrs. 
Bumpus  was  the  master's  wife.  She  evidently  took  as 
much  pride  in  her  position  as  did  the  woman  whose  husband 
was  chosen  corporal.  As  to  Arabella  Mehitable,  their  prom- 
ising daughter,  and  only  child  and  heir,  who  had  been  twen- 
ty-five years  old  for  the  last  ten  or  twelve  years,  she  but 
acted  out  her  natural  disposition  when  she  was  domineering 
over  those  who  were  entirely  defenceless. 

Mrs.  Bumpus  thought  that  such  a  young  woman  as  Ara- 
bella Mehitable  was  seldom  met  with ;  and  she  had  learned 
to  agree  with  every  opinion  she  advanced ;  and,  no  matter 
what  the  subject  might  be,  it  was  all  law  and  Gospel  to  her. 


GLENWOOD. 

Arabella  Mehitable  had  not  obtained  this  great  influence 
in  a  moment,  for  there  was  more  or  less  sparring  between 
mother  and  daughter,  for  a  number  of  years ;  but  she  was 
the  victor  at  last,  and  completely  so.  On  the  part  of  the 
parent  there  was  the  most  perfect  self-abnegation.  Mrs. 
Bumpus  was  always  sure  that  Arabella  Mehitable  was 
right  •,  in  fact,  she  usually  repeated  what  she  said,  using 
very  much  the  same  language ;  and  this  was  not  only  so  in 
relation  to  things  of  importance,  but  to  those  which  were 
the  most  common  and  trite. 

To  live  with  town  paupers  was  not  exactly  in  accordance 
with  Arabella  Mehitable's  taste,  for  she  wanted  to  be  con- 
sidered one  of  the  ton,  and  make  a  noise  in  the  world ; 
but,  as  she  was  very  plain,  and  her  father  by  no  means 
wealthy,  and  having  tried  all  her  lifetime  to  produce  a  sen- 
sation by  her  aristocratic,  lady-like  accomplishments,  and 
most  signally  failed,  she  was  not  sorry  that  she  now  occu- 
pied a  position  where  she  could  make  her  influence  felt. 

Three  of  the  paupers  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  secure 
her  ill-will  from  the  first, —  Widow  Gunimede,  Margaret 
Bum  ford,  and  Willk  Cunard.  In  relation  to  Margaret 
Bumford,  she  was,  she  said,  well  "  posted  up ;  "  for  Mrs. 
Slusher  had  informed  her  of  Margaret's  ugly  temper,  lazi- 
ness, and  monstrous  appetite  —  three  unpardonable  sins  in 
her  eyes,  especially  the  last.  The  Widow  Gunimede  excited 
her  contempt  by  asking,  the  first  night  they  reached  Sklin- 
tonbog,  for  a  cup  of  tea ;  and  when  told  that  the  town  would 
not  furnish  tea  for  paupers,  she  immediately  commenced 
crying.  And  no  matter  what  was  said  in  explanation,  or  in 
rebuke  for  her  presumption,  every  day  it  was  the  same. 
"  Do  give  me  just  one  cup  of  tea  !  "  was  the  first  thing  in 
12* 


138  GLENWOOD. 

the  morning,  and  the  last  at  night ;  she  even  moaned  about 
it  in  her  sleep.  Poor  Mrs.  Gunimede !  all  her  pleadings 
were  in  vain,  for  there  was  no  tea  for  her. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable,  after  one  week  had 
passed  away,  "  she  is  enough  to  wear  out  the  patience  of 
Job !  I  never  saw  such  an  inconsistent,  inconsiderate 
woman,  in  all  my  life  !  " 

Reader,  do  you  wonder  at  this  burst  of  virtuous  indigna- 
tion, on  the  part  of  Arabella  Mehitable  ?  It  is  hoped  that 
you  will  be  sensible  enough  to  see  its  force.  I  am  sure  that 
I  do.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  to  deprive  old  people  of  a 
beverage  so  harmless  as  tea,  in  order  to  save  the  town  a 
few  dollars  a  year,  and  the  tax-payers  a  few  mills  or  a  cent 
apiece,  is  not  only  mean,  but  cruel.  "  They  have  been  ac- 
customed to  drinking  tea  all  their  lifetime,"  you  say;  "  and 
now,  in  their  old  age,  when  they  have  become  feeble,  they 
require  this  stimulant,  and  it  is  niggardly  and  wicked  to 
refuse  it  to  them." 

I  am  aware  that  some  narrow-minded  people  talk  in  that 
way  ;  but  I  shall  speak  in  defence  of  the  town  of  Glenwood, 
and  say,  in  the  borrowed  language  of  Mr.  Gregg,  "Let  jus- 
tice be  done,  though  the  heavens  fall !  " 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  physicians  have  given  it  as 
their  opinion,  after  the  most  mature  deliberation,  that  the 
human  system  does  not  require  tea  and  coffee ;  the  latter  is 
often  injurious,  and  sometimes  the  former,  neither  having 
nutritious  qualities. —  therefore  merely  luxuries.  But  there 
is  other  proof.  All  the  water-cure  doctors  in  the  world 
have  decided  that  tea  and  coffee  are  absolutely  injurious  in 
every  case,  and  under  all  circumstances.  Now,  it  is  not  to 
be  supposed  that  a  town  can  do  everything;  and  consequently 


GLENWOOD.  139 

*  Js  under  no  obligations  to  furnish  luxuries  for  the  poor. 
Christianity  or  humanity  does  not  demand  it.  How  strange 
it  is  that  an  old  woman,  one  who  would  otherwise  have  to 
die  in  the  street  of  cold -and  starvation,  after  she  has  been 
provided  with  a  home  and  enough  to  eat,  should  complain 
because  her  appetite  cannot  be  pampered  any  longer  with 
tea !  Why,  it  is  beyond  endurance  ! 

There  was  difficulty  very  soon  between  Arabella  Mehita- 
ble  and  Margaret  Bumford.  The  latter  felt  that  the  former 
was  not  the  mistress,  and  had  no  business  to  tyrannize  over 
her ;  while  Arabella  Mehitable  was  overbearing  in  the  ex- 
treme. One  day,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bumpus  were  absent, 
she  told  Margaret  that  she  was  a  lazy,  disagreeable,  greedy 
glutton  ;  and  that  she  did  not  earn  her  salt,  and  never  had. 
The  latter  retorted  by  calling  her  a  red-haired,  cross,  ill- 
looking  old  maid.  This  put  her  in  a  passion,  and  she 
made  a  spring  at  Margaret,  and  caught  hold  of  her  coarse, 
black  hair,  and  pulled  it  with  all  her  strength. 

"You  saucy,  impudent  thing!"  she  said;  " I '11  teach 
you  ! » 

Margaret  was  not  daunted  by  this  furious  assault  in  the 
least,  and  she  quickly  removed  her  antagonist's  hands  from 
her  hair,  and  then  shook  her  as  though  she  had  been  a  child. 
She  then  took  her  by  the  ear,  led  her  to  a  closet,  and  shut  her 
in,  where  she  remained  a  prisoner  until  her  parents  returned, 
some  three  hours  after.  Margaret  was  the  victor,  but  she 
paid  the  penalty  of  her  rashness  by  being  sent  to  bed  three 
nights  in  succession  without  her  supper.  She  was  let  off 
very  easily,  one  might  think ;  but  to  Margaret  it  was  a 
severe  punishment. 

As  soon  as  the  poor-master's  promising   daughter  saw 


140  GLENWOOD. 

Willie  Cunard,  she  said  that  she  knew  he  must  be  a  sulky, 
bad  boy,  for  he  looked  so  discontented,  and  was  so  lazy 
withal,  moving  about  as  though  it  was  disagreeable  for  him 
to  stir.  Mrs.  Bumpus,  having  no  opinion  of  her  own, 
agreed  with  Arabella  Mehitable;  and  Mr.  Bumpus  soon 
coincided  with  them.  It  was  not  long  before  Willie  knew 
that  all  three  regarded  him  with  aversion.  For  the  smallest 
omissions  of  duty  he  was  severely  punished,  and  no  pleasant 
words  were  spoken  to  him.  Willie  had  been  wretched 
enough  when  with  Mr.  Bumford ;  but  now  his  cup  was  full, 
and  he  often  stole  away  by  himself  and  cried  in  all  the  bit- 
terness of  woe.  Arabella  Mehitable  once  found  him  weep- 
ing, and  she  gave  him  what  she  called  a  good  switching, 
telling  him  that,  as  he  was  so  fond  of  crying,  it  was  best  that 
he  should  have  something  to  cry  for. 

In  a  few  months  there  were  rumors  in  Glenwood  that 
the  paupers  were  not  used  well;  and,  the  attention  of  the 
selectmen  having  been  called  to  the  subject,  Mr.  Gregg, 
being  the  chairman  of  that  honorable  body,  was  sent  to  the 
alms-house  to  investigate  the"  matter  ;  where  he  went,  im- 
pressed with  the  full  sense  of  the  dignity  of  his  mission. 
The  poor-master  was  absent;  but,  as  the  more  important 
personages  of  the  family  were  at  home,  mother  and  daughter, 
he  concluded  to  proceed  with  the  investigation. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "on  a  mission  of  import- 
ance." 

"I  regret  that  pa  is  away,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Gregg;  "  but  perhaps  the  matter  can 
be  satisfactorily  adjusted,  in  relation  thereto}  even  without 
his  presence." 


GLENWOOD.  141 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  she  replied.  "  What  is  the  nature  of 
your  business,  Mr.  Gregg?" 

"Hem!  We  have  been  informed — hem! — that  the  pau- 
pers are  not  treated  as  they  should  be,"  he  answered. 

"I  am  astonished  !  "  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"  I  am  surprised  ! "  said  her  mother. 

"I  would  like  to  know,  in  the  first  place,  what  sort  of  a 
boy  is  the  pauper  called  Willie  Cunard." 

"  0  !  he  is  one  of  the  worst  boys  I  ever  saw, — lazy,  sulky, 
disobedient ;  and  those  are  not  his  worst  failings,  for  he  will 
both  lie  and  steal !  "  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"I  never  seed  sich  a  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Bumpus.  "Why, 
he  never  pertends  to  mind  anything  that  is  said  to  him ;  he 
has  stolen  pie,  and  cheese,  and  cake,  a  great  many  times ; 
and  when  it  was  laid  to  him,  he  denied  it  right  up  and 
down  !  Yes,  Mr.  Gregg,  only  think  of  it, —  right  up  and 
down !  " 

"  Evidently  a  very  hardened  boy,  Mrs.  Bumpus,  and 
should  be  corrected,  until  there  is  a  reformation,"  said  Mr. 
Gregg.  "  How  is  his  temper?  " 

"It  is  the  worst  I  ever  saw,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"  I  never  seed  anything  like  it,  in  all  my  born  days,"  said 
Mrs.  Bumpus. 

"  We  have  had  to  punish  him  some,  in  order  to  get  along 
at  all,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"  Yes,  we  have  been  'bliged  to  lick  him,  once  in  a  while; 
for  we  could  not  control  him  without,"  said  Mrs.  Bumpus. 

"  You  have  done  perfectly  right,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "  '  for 
he  who  spsireth  the  rod  spoileth  the  child.'  I  should  like 
to  see  the  boy." 

Arabella  Mehitable  went  and  called  him;  and,  having 


142  GLENWOOD. 

•washed  some  of  the  dirt  from  his  face,  brought  him  to  Mr 
Gregg.  Willie  looked  very  fearful,  and  hung  down  hig 
head,  as  though  he  was  as  guilty  as  his  accusers  had  mad? 
him. 

"He  has  every  appearance  of  guilt,"  said  Mr.  Gregg 
"  Come  to  me,  sir." 

Willie  reluctantly  obeyed,  and  so  moved  but  slowly 
When  within  reach,  Mr.  Gregg  caught  hold  of  his  shoulder, 
and  almost  jerked  him  from  off  his  feet,  saying,  "I  will 
show  you,  my  fine  fellow,  how  to  move  with  a  little  life  !  If 
you  had  me  to  deal  with,  you  would  not  mope  in  that  way. 
Hold  up  your  head,"  taking  hold  of  it  roughly,  and  turning 
his  face  upwards.  "  I  hear  bad  stories  of  you,  sir ;  and  I 
see  your  guilt  in  your  face ;  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  you 
will  come  to  the  gallows,  some  day.  What  have  you  to  say 
for  yourself,  sir?" 

Willie  was  too  much  frightened  to  speak,  and  so  he  stood 
wriggling  and  twisting,  trying  hard  to  break  away  from  the 
strong  grip  of  his  captor. 

"  None  of  that !  "  said  Mr.  Gregg.  "  I  know  you,  sir ! 
You  will  go  when  I  am  ready  to  have  you,  and  not  a  mo- 
ment before." 

"  I  thought  you  would  find  him  out,"  said  Arabella 
Mehitable. 

"0,  I  was  sartin  you  'd  know  what  he  was,"  said  Mrs. 
Bumpus. 

"  Trust  me  for  that,  madam.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  can 
read  character  without  much  effort.  I  have  never  yet 
failed,"  said  Mr.  Gregg.  "You  may  go  now,"  addressing 
himself  to  Willie.  "But,  sir,  be  careful  how  you  conduct 


GLENWOOD.  143 

yourself,  or  you  will  get  into  such  trouble  as  you  won't  like. 
—  A  bad  boy,  Mrs.  Bumpus." 

"He  is  very  bad,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable.  "If  I 
should  tell  you  all  his  capers,  you  would  not  believe  me." 

"No,  you  would  never  believe  it,  in  the  world,  Mr. 
Gregg,"  said  Mrs.  Bumpus.  "He  is  all  the  time  at  his 
capers." 

"  I  make  no  doubt  of  it.  I  wish  to  inquire  now  in  rela- 
tion to  the  Widow  Gunimede,  for  we  have  heard  that  she  is 
abused." 

"  Did  you  ever  !  "  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"Is  it  possible  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bumpus. 

"  What  an  ungrateful  people,"  said  Arabella  Mehitable, 
"  after  all  we  have  borne  from  that  woman !  " 

"After  all  we  have  borne  from  her,"  said  Mrs.  Bumpus, 
"  how  ungrateful  they  are  !  " 

"I  would  like  to  be  informed  in  relation  thereto,"  said 
Mr.  Gregg. 

"Why,  she  wanted  tea  the  first  night  we  arrived  here; 
and  she  has  asked  for  it  fifty  times  a  day  ever  since,"  said 
Arabella  Mehitable. 

"  §he  keeps  asking  every  day,  as  much  as  fifty  times,  and 
she  wanted  a  cup  the  first  night  we  got  here  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Bumpus. 

"And  so  the  fault  was  all  hers,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "and 
not  yours.  Just  as  I  had  supposed.  What  presumption  in 
an  old  woman  like  her !  Why,  Mrs.  Bumpus,  she  had  not 
where  to  lay  her  head  when  the  honorable  board  of  select- 
men took  pity  upon  her,  and  gave  her  this  good  home.  And 
she  must  have  her  tea,  as  though  she  earned  the  money,  and 
not  somebody  else !  What  does  shfr  need  of  tea,  as  old  as  she 


144  GLENWOOD. 

ill       c.t'7    «>.     ;"«.    «.'•''•'• 

is,  I  would  like  to  know  ?     Does  she  still  continue  to  ask  for 
it?" 

"She  does."  replied  Arabella  Mehitable,  "fifty  times  a 
day !  " 

"As  many  as  fifty  times  a  day,"  said  Mrs.  Bumpus. 

"I  should  like  to  have  her  called  in,"  said  Mr.  Gregg. 

The  old  lady  was  sent  for,  and  came  in,  looking  pale,  and 
very  sorrowful.  She  was  introduced  by  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"And  so,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "you  are  not  satisfied  with 
your  treatment  here,  Mrs.  Gunimede?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  let  me  have  a  very  little  tea,"  she 
replied.  "  I  am  not  well,  and  a  little  black  tea  would  make 
me  feel  so  much  better  !  " 

"  That  's  the  way  she  always  runs  on,"  said  Arabella 
Mehitable. 

' '  What  good  do  you  suppose  tea  would  do,  you  silly 
woman?  "  said  Mr.  Gregg. 

"  It  used  to  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good.  Pray,  good  man, 
do  let  me  have  a  little  !  "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  maintained  by  the  town?  " 
asked  Mr.  Gregg. 

"I  suppose  I  am.  0,  that  I  should  ever  come  to  this ! 
It  is  too  much  —  too  much  !  You  will  let  me  have  a  little 
tea,  won't  you,  Mr.  Grogg?  " 

"My  name  is  Gregg,  if  you  please,  ma'am  !  The  town 
cannot  afford  tea  for  the  paupers,  Mrs.  Gunimede.  Tea 
never  does  the  least  good  in  the  world, —  not  the  least,  and 
you  must  hold  your  tongue  about  it." 

' '  0  !  I  cannot !  I  must  have  some  tea  —  I  shall  die  if 
you  do  not  give  me  some !  I  wonder  that  I  have  lived  so 
long  !  Will  they  let  me  die  for  the  want  of  it  ?  I  know 


GLENWOOD.  145 

that  I  shall  die  !  0,  that  I  ever  should  have  come  to  this  ! 
Mrs.  Bumper  wont  give  me  any  !  —  You  will,  won't  you, 
Mr.  Grugg?" 

"  Not  Grugg,  but  Gregg.  I  have  told  you  that  the  town 
cannot  afford  it,  and  I  mean  what  I  say,  and  so  you  must 
keep  still  about  it." 

"  But  I  must  have  some,  Mr.  Grogg;  I  cannot  live  with- 
out it,  and  Mrs.  Bumper  will  not  listen  !  0,  that  I  should 
ever  come  to  this  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  that  's  what  you  shall  do,  or  there 
will  be  trouble  here  —  yes,  trouble  !  Do  you  hear  what  I 
say?" 

"I  am  not  deaf,  Mr.  Grogg,  but  I  want  a  cup  of  tea! 
I  must  have  a  cup  of  tea.  0,  that  I  should  ever  have  come 
to  this!" 

"  That  is  just  the  way  she  always  runs  on,"  said  Arabella 
Mehitable. 

"Yes,  that  's  the  way  she  always  runs  on,"  said  Mrs. 
Bumpus. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  tell  Mrs.  Bumper  to  give  me  a  cup  of  tea, 
Mr.  Grogg." 

"Mrs.  Bumpus,"  said  Mr.  Gregg,  "I  think  you  have  a 
great  trial,  in  particular  with  this  woman,  and  your  patience, 
I  may  say,  is  —  is  admirable.  I  will  report  you  to  the 
honorable  board.  Mrs.  Gunimede,  I  am  astonished  that  you 
should  take  such  an  unjustifiable,  unheard-of  course.  I 
wish  to  inform  you,  madam,  that,  unless  you  change  your 
conduct,  it  will  be  the  duty  of  the  honorable  board,  of  which 
I  am  the  chairman,  to  turn  you  out  of  doors !  " 

"Mind  what  he  says,"   remarked  Arabella  Mehitable ; 
"he  is  one  of  the  selectmen  !  " 
13 


146  GLENWOOD. 

"Yes,  the  chairman,"  said  Mr.  Gregg. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Gunimede,  mind  what  he  says,  for  he  '&  one 
of  the  slackmen,"  said  Mrs.  Bumpus. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  selectmen  of  Glenwood?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Gunimede. 

"  I  am,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Gregg;  "and  I  hope  you  will 
give  due  heed  to  what  I  say,  for  it  is  very  important  to  you 
—  very  important." 

"  I  know  it  is  —  it  must  be,  Mr.  Grogg ;  but  you  will  let 
Mrs.  Bumper  give  me  a  little  tea?  I  can't  live,  if  you 
don't !  It  will  not  cost  much,  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Grogg ! 
Pray,  good  sir,  do  let  me  have  a  little  !  " 

"  This  is  past  all  endurance,  after  what  I  have  already 
told  you  !  "  said  Mr.  Gregg.  "  Mrs.  Gunimede,  you  shan't 
have  one  drop  of  tea, —  so  there  !  And  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  my  name  is  Gregg,  Joseph  Gregg,  and  not  Grugg 
nor  Grogg !  Why,  I  should  think  the  woman  was  half 
crazy  !  " 

"  0,  she  knows  enough  !"  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"You  are  crazy,  Miss  Bumper,  or  a  fool ;  so  you  keep 
still,  and  go  and  get  me  a  cup  of  tea  ;  for  I  have  asked  for 
it  enough,  and  I  can't  wait  any  longer,"  said  Mrs  Guni- 
mede. 

'•'•  Send  the  woman  away,"  said  Mr.  Gregg ;  and  when  she 
had  gone,  he  observed, 

"  Well,  you  do  have  a  trial  with  this  woman,  and  I  may 
say  that  you  have  been  slanderously  reported  in  relation 
thereto.  Complaint  has  been  made  in  reference  to  the  treat- 
ment of  Margaret  Bumford ;  but  I  will  not  so  insult  you 
as  to  investigate  the  subject,  for  that  excellent  Mrs.  Slusher 
has  informed  me  what  a  —  a  trial  she  is.  Commend  me  tc 


GLENWOOD.  147 

your  husband,  Mrs.  Bumpus,  and  inform  him  that  I  shall 
make  a  favorable  report  to  the  honorable  board  of  select- 
men of  Glen  wood."  So  saying,  he  took  his  departure, 
leaving  Mrs.  Bumpus  and  daughter  highly  elated  at  the 
result  of  his  visit. 

Mr.  Gregg  made  his  report  at  the  next  meeting  of  the 
selectmen,  and  it  was  deemed  highly  satisfactory,  and  a 
vote  of  thanks  was  passed  to  the  "  honorable  gentleman  "  for 
the  efficient  manner  in 'which  he  had  performed  the  business 
intrusted  to  his  hands.  Mr.  Bumpus  and  family  were  ac- 
quitted of  all  blame.  Mrs.  Gunimede  was  severely  cen- 
sured, and  a  letter  was  written  by  the  Rev.  Wellington 
Shackles,  signed  by  him,  and  endorsed  by  the  selectmen, 
and  sent  to  the  offending  woman,  in  which  the  great  sin  of 
ingratitude  was  dwelt  upon  at  length,  and  she  was  exhorted 
to  repent  of  past  transgressions,  ask  pardon  of  the  kind 
friends  who  took  such  good  care  of  her,  and  henceforth 
be  mindful  of  her  conduct,  and  not  put  the  town  to  further 
trouble  and  expense  !  After  Arabella  Mehitable  had  read 
it  to  her  with  due  solemnity,  she  said : 

"  0  !  how  I'  wish  they  had  sent  me  a  little  tea  !  0  ! 
that  I  should  ever  have  come  to  this  !  I  shall  die  if  I 
cannot  have  some  tea  !  Miss  Bumper,  do  just  give  me  one 
cup  of  tea  !  " 

Poor  Mrs.  Gunimede  !  her  mind  was  weakened  by  misfor- 
tune and  trouble  when  she  first  became  an  inmate  of  the 
alms-house,  but  now  she  was  a  complete  monomaniac  on 
the  subject  of  tea,  body  and  mind  growing  weaker  every 
day.  But,  dear,  compassionate  reader,  don't  say  she  should 
have  had  tea ;  for  how  could  the  town  afford  it? 

In   the  winter  Willie  Cunard  was  sent  to  school.     His 


148  GLE^WOOD. 

clothes,  however,  were  unclean  and  in  tatters,  and  the  chil- 
dren used  him  ill,  calling  him  the  little  pauper  ;  which  made 
him  shun  the  presence  of  his  school-mates  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. The  master  seemed  to  hate  the  sight  of  him,  and 
punished  him  often  and  severely ;  and  so  the  boys  felt,  as 
he  had  no  protector,  that  they  could  do  with  him  as  they 
pleased.  Many  were  the  indignities  they  heaped  upon  him, 
and  their  abuse  was  often  outrageous.  It  was  of  no  use  for 
him  to  complain,  for  no  one  pitied  him,  excepting  Margaret 
Bumford,  Mrs.  Gunimede,  and  Hector  Stifels.  The  latter 
was  exceedingly  indignant,  and  gave  vent  to  his  wrath  after 
this  style : 

"  If  them  are  boys  tech  ye  agin,  you  jist  let  know  't, 
and  I  '11  thresh  'em  —  I  will !  I  allus  user  lick  'em  when  I 
went  to  schule,  I  did.  I  guv  a  big  boy  some  onc't !  I  tell  ye 
jist  how  I  does  um  !  I  pitches  right  into  'em  ker-smash,  I 
does !  " 

Willie  thought  he  had  a  champion  now,  sure  enough; 
and  the  next  day,  when  a  boy  twelve  years  old  struck  him 
and  made  his  nose  bleed,  he  ran,  all  bloody,  to  Hector,  and 
the  latter  watched  for  the  offender,  who  passed  by  the  alms- 
house  returning  from  school.  As  soon  as  Hector  saw  him, 
he  started  for  the  purpose,  he  said,  "  of  guving  him  jist  what 
he  would  n't  like."  The  boy  saw  him  coming,  and  picked 
up  a  stone  to  use  in  self-defence ;  which  so  frightened  Hec- 
tor, that  he  fled  in  great  terror  until  beyond  the  reach  of  it. 
He  excused  himself  to  Willie,  by  saying,  "  That  are  boy 
could  kill  me  with  sich  a  big  rock."  The  next  morn- 
ing, Margaret  hid  behind  the  wall,  and  lay  in  wa*t  for  the 
culprit.  He  attempted  to  frighten  her  with  the  same  weap- 
on which  did  such  good  service  the  evening  previous,  but 


GLENWOOD.  149 

in  vain.  Instead  of  terrifying,  as  designed,  it  excited  her 
anger,  and  she  sprang  at  him  in  a  fury.  He  threw  the 
stone  and  hit  her;  but  in  a  moment  after  his  body  was 
making  the  most  comical  movements  imaginable,  legs  and 
arms  flying  up  and  down,  and  his  head  bobbing  about,  as 
though  he  had  the  Shaker-jerks,  or  was  awfully  afflicted 
with  the  St.  Vitus  dance. 

Margaret  was  very  strong,  and,  when  angry,  woe  to  the 
victim  of  her  wrath  !  She  almost  shook  his  life  out  of  him. 
It  was  her  favorite  mode  of  administering  chastisement, 
and  one  application  was  entirely  satisfactory.  Willie's  risi- 
ble faculties  were  excited,  by  this  comical  exhibition,  as 
they  had  not  been  for  a  long  time  before ;  and  he  told  her 
that  he  thought  she  must  be  the  walking  fever  and  ague. 
13* 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IfR.     7EBULON    BUGBEE    MAKES    HIS    MAIDEN    SPEECH    IN     GLENWOOD. — 

BETSEY   SLPSHER  LEFT   A   WIDOW. LOSS  OF  PROPERTY,  AND  MARRIAGE 

OF  MR.  GREGG. POLLY  HAGGETT  IN  DESPAIR. GETS   BETTER. 

AT  the  expiration  of  the  first  year  of  the  poor-farm  exper- 
iment, it  was  found  that,  instead  of  diminishing  the  taxes  of 
the  people  of  Glenwood,  it  had  largely  increased  them ;  and 
the  committee  who  bought  the  farm  were  severely  censured, 
while  some  thought  Mr.  Bumpus  unfit  for  the  station  he 
occupied,  and  that  he  would  run  the  town  in  debt  as  long 
as  he  retained  it.  There  were  others  who  said  they  did  not 
care  for  the  increase  of  taxes,  if  the  poor  were  actually 
benefited  thereby ;  they  would  not  grumble  because  money 
was  expended,  drawn  from  their  pockets,  if  the  paupers  were 
the  gainers.  In  their  estimation,  it  was  bad  policy  on  the 
part  of  the  town,  purchasing  a  farm  in  a  neighboring  town. 
As  the  people  could  not  exercise  that  scrutiny  which  they 
might  under  other  circumstances,  the  poor  were  more  liable 
to  abuse.  The  one-sided  report  of  Mr.  Gregg  they  believed 
utterly  worthless. 

At  this  meeting,  Mr.  Zebulon  Bugbee.  not  long  a  resi- 
dent, having  become  a  citizen  of  the  town  for  the  purpose 
of  manufacturing  wooden  ware,  exercised  his  oratorical 


GLENWOOD.  151 

powers  in  making  his  maiden  speech  in  Glenwood,  and  he 
brought  down  the  house. 

"Mr.  Modrator,"  said  Mr.  Bugbee,  "Mr.  Joseph 
Gregg,  Esq.,  the  honorable  chairman  of  the  honorable  board 
of  slackmen,  seems  to  think  that  it  makes  no  pacific  odds 
whether  we  have  a  poor-farm  in  Glenwood  or  over  in  Sklin- 
tonbog.  Now,  it  is  a  maxim  of  the  Holy  Scripturs  that  the 
poor  we  have  always  with  us ;  and  I  should  like  to  have  that 
very  honorable  gentleman  inform  me,  and  this  respectable 
ordnance,  how  we  are  to  have  the  poor  always  with  us,  when 
we  've  packed  'em  all  over  to  Sklintonbog  !  (A  laugh  and 
cheers.)  Now,  Mr.  Modrator,  it  may  be  all  ironical  synony- 
mous (a  laugh),  to  you,  sir,  and  me,  and  many  others, 
whether  we  have  a  farm  here  or  a  farm  there  ;  but,  sir,  in 
the  name  of  all  the  gods  at  once,  I  would  ask  what  business 
have  we  to  send  our  paupers  over  to  Sklintonbog  ?  I  reck- 
on, sir,  that  it  makes  a  decided  odds  to  the  people  there ;  for 
they  have  all  they  desire  of  that  indigenous  class  of  fellow- 
citizens.  (Laughter.)  Han't  we  got  gumption  enough  to 
perceive  all  this  is  ambiguous  to  our  honor, —  yes,  our  honor, 
gentlemen  !  I  was  n't  raised  in  Glemvood,  Mr.  Modrator, 
but  it  makes  no  pacific  odds  to  me,  for  I  have  lately  adopted 
the  town  as  my  futur  place  of  localization.  (Laughter.)  I 
have  moved  my  wife  and  family  here ;  and  that  is  ironically 
synonymous  with  being  raised  here,  as  you  will  all  admit. 
(Cries  of  "  Yes,  yes,"  laughter,  and  cheers.)  Now,  sir,  I  in- 
tend to  look  to  things,  and  see  that  they  perceed  according 
to  Gunter.  In  the  first  place,  I  shall  manufacture  the  best 
wooden  ware  in  the  county ;  and,  secondly,  I  shall  look 
out  for  the  honor  of  the  town  I  have  adopted.  Well,  sir, 
look  at  our  paupers  attending  school  in  Sklintonbog.  Who 


152  GLENWOOD. 

settles  the  bill  ?  Yes,  sir,  who  settles  the  bill  ?  I  wish  to 
be  informed  (bowing  to  Mr.  Gregg)  in  relation  thereto. 
(Laughter.)  Why,  sir,  the  people  all  about  us  are  stretch- 
ing their  jaws  with  laughter ;  and  they  call  us  a  set  of  green- 
horns, who  don't  know  once, —  and  I  take  it  they  are  about 
half  right.  (Laughter.)  An't  we  able  —  have  n't  we  the 
ability  to  pay  our  own  school-bills  ?  I  reckon  we  are  —  we 
have.  If  we  are  so  poverty-stricken  as  all  that  ere  conies  to, 
we  had  better  pack  up  our  duds,  and  take  a  bee-line  for 
Sklintonbog,  and  get  them  to  take  care  on  us.  Mr.  Mod- 
rator,  the  eyes  of  the  world  is  upon  us,  and  we  must  account 
at  their  tribunal  for  this  day's  business ;  and  you  or  I,  or  our 
children,  may  rue  it.  You  may  think,  sir,  that  it  makes  no 
pacific  odds  in  the  end ;  but  it  does.  And,  sir,  having  the 
honor  of  the  town  and  the  welfare  of  posterity  in  view,  I 
motion  that  the  present  board  of  slackmen  be  permitted  to 
remain  pretty  still  and  quiet  during  the  coming  year  ensuing; 
for  they  have  shown  themselves  uncompetent  for  the  honor- 
able position  they  have  attempted  to  fill.  (Laughter.)  2d. 
I  move  you,  sir,  that  a  new  and  more  proficient  board  be 
chosen  in  their  place ;  and  that  they  be  empowered  to  sell, 
dispose  of,  make  over,  or  get  rid  of,  the  farm  out  of  town, 
and  buy  one  in  town.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendjous 
—  (laughter)  —  crisis,  sir ;  and,  if  we  do  not  wake  up  and  cast 
off  our  letherjay,  we  shall  soon  see  our  honor,  now  wounded, 
lay  bleeding  at  our  feet !  The  cries  of  the  poor  are  ringing 
in  our  ears  to-day,  calling  upon  every  man  to  do  his  duty. 
Ironically  synonymous,  I  take  it,  of  our  fate,  if  we  neg- 
lect so  great  a  salvation."  Mr.  Bugbee  resumed  his  seat 
amid  laughter  and  cheers. 

In  accordance  with  the  suggestions  of  the  speaker,  a  new 


GLENWOOD.  153 

board  of  selectmen  was  chosen,  coupled  with  instructions  to 
sell  the  farm  in  Sklintonbog,  and  purchase  one  in  Glenwood. 
The  business  was  transacted  in  the  midst  of  much  fun  and 
frolic.  As  there  was  an  uncertainty  in  relation  to  the  effi- 
ciency of  Mr.  Bumpus,  many  believing  that  he  had  done  aa 
well  as  any  one  could  under  the  circumstances,  it  was  voted 
that  he  be  retained  as  master  of  the  alms-house  for  one 
year  longer. 

The  day  after  the  town-meeting,  Mr.  Slusher  was  thrown 
from  his  horse,  and  so  badly  injured  that  he  died  in  a  few 
hours,  leaving  a  widow  and  seven  children.  Betsey  Ann 
Slusher  was  the  eldest,  being  fourteen  years  old  when  her 
father  died  ;  and  between  her  and  the  next  on  the  docket, 
Jabez,  there  were  two  years,  and  so  on  to  the  last,  namely, 
Jerusha,  Obadiah,  Sally  Ann,  Peter,  and  Titus. 

Mr.  Gregg  was  chosen  guardian  for  these  interesting  chil- 
dren ;  and  when  the  estate  was  settled  it  was  found,  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  citizens,  that  the  property  amounted 
to  ten  thousand  dollars. 

Polly  Haggett  was  still  housekeeper  at  Mr.  Gregg's,  but 
not  the  mistress.  At  times  her  prospects  looked  bright  and 
hopeful  to  her,  and  again  the  thermometer  went  down  below 
zero.  Thomas  Gregg  was  now  paying  his  addresses  to 
Miranda  Penelope,  much  to  the  gratification  of  the  wriggle- 
headed  Fanny.  The  latter  often  boasted  that  her  brother, 
who  was  "  every  inch  a  Gregg,"  was  "  engaged  to  the  beau- 
tifulest  and  most  accomplished  lady  in  Glenwood."  Jim 
Blossom,  after  being  very  attentive  to  the  lisping  Nannie 
Pottle  for  two  years,  left  her  for  another,  and  she  was  given 
over  to  hopeless  old-maidism.  The  neighboring  families  of 
Mr.  Goose  and  Deacon  Glubbings  were  prosperous  and  happy, 


154  GLENWOOD. 

pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  their  way,  ruffled  only,  now  and 
then,  by  the  wrongs  and  injustice  of  man. 

Mr.  Gregg  was  a  great  deal  mortified  that  he  should  have 
been  turned  out  of  office  so  summarily,  but  the  thought  that 
his  genius  was  unappreciated  in  Glenwood  was  balm  to  his 
wounded  feelings,  and  he  became  more  dignified  and  stiff  than 
ever.  But  this  proved  an  unlucky  year  for  him.  At  its 
close  he  had  lost  two  thirds  of  his  property.  He  manufactured 
a  large  number  of  organs,  which  were  unfit  for  the  parlor, 
and  weie  not  considered  good  enough  for  churches ;  and,  as 
there  was  a  great  scarcity  of  money,  he  was  unable  to  mcc<. 
his  bills,  and  so  was  obliged  to  sell  at  an  immense  loss. 
The  result  was  that  he  sold  out  all  his  mechanical  business, 
and  had  to  borrow  a  thousand  dollars  on  a  mortgage  of  his 
farm. 

Polly  Haggett  now  redoubled  her  efforts  to  make  an  im- 
pression. She  manifested  the  warmest  sympathy  for  Mr. 
Gregg's  misfortune,  and  hinted  that  some  one  should  share 
his  troubles,  for  they  were  too  heavy  to  be  borne  alone.  For 
his  gratification,  she  had  practised  the  most  strict  economy, 
and  so  had  saved  five  hundred  dollars.  This  little  fortune 
she  loaned  to  him,  remarking,  in  a  guarded  manner,  that  if 
it  was  united  with  his  it  would  make  quite  a  difference  ;  but 
he  was  too  obtuse  to  take  the  hint. 

After  Mr.  Gregg  gave  up  his  mechanical  business,  he 
turned  his  attention  to  farming  ;  but,  as  he  had  never  been  ac- 
customed to  hard  labor,  the  best  that  he  could  do,  at  the  end 
of  the  year,  was  to  pay  the  interest  on  the  debt.  He  felt  that 
he  must  curtail  his  expenses,  and  queripd  if  he  should  not 
dismiss  Polly ;  and  so  he  asked  Fanny  if  she  .could  do  the 
work.  With  a  toss  of  the  head,  and  a  wriggle  all  over,  she 


GLENWOOD.  156 

declared  she  never  heard  of  such  a  ridiculous  idea,  for  a  child 
could  perform  it  as  well  as  she. 

In  this  estimate  of  her  abilities  she  did  herself  no  injus- 
tice, and  it  was  about  the  only  sensible  thing  she  was  evei 
known  to  say.  Her  brother  Thomas  had  always  felt  himself 
too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  till  the  soil ;  and  when  his  father 
spoke  of  the  essential  aid  he  might  give  him,  he  said  that  he 
was  too  weakly  for  such  heavy  work  —  it  would  ruin  his 
precious  health.  Mr.  Gregg,  failing  in  obtaining  assistance 
from  these  sources,  began  to  look  elsewhere. 

Mrs.  Betsey  Slusher  was  now  some  months  a  widow,  and, 
being  such  a  delicate  creature,  and  withal  so  lonely,  having 
only  seven  children  to  keep  her  company,  began  to  think  of 
matrimony.  Not  that  she  had  forgotten  the  submissive  Slush- 
er, —  0,  no!  — but  she  wanted  to  taste  the  sweets  of  mar- 
ried life  again.  They  had  lived  so  happily,  and  been  so  highly 
blessed, — witness  the  seven  abridged  editions  and  ten  thousand 
dollars, —  that  she  knew  not  how  she  could  show  her  respect 
for  her  husband's  memory,  and  her  regard  for  the  marriage 
institution,  so  plainly  as  by  marrying  again,  if  she  had  a  good 
opportunity.  That  she  was  lonely  only  went  to  show  how 
highly  appreciated  was  the  companionship  of  her  departed 
husband.  We  will  not  stop  to  quarrel  with  Betsey  for  hav- 
ing such  thoughts,  nor  question  the  soundness  of  her  conclu- 
sions ;  but  say,  in  the  language  of  Deacon  Ramsdill,  "  It 's 
natur,"  and  certainly  Betsey  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  that. 

The  reader  is  aware  that  Mr.  Gregg  was  many  years  a 
widower ;  and  Mrs.  Betsey  was  not  the  only  one  who  thought 
it  high  time  that  he  should  marry  again.  As  he  was 
the  guardian  of  Mrs.  Betsey's  children,  why  should  he  not 
hold  a  nearer  relation  ?  Could  anything  be  more  natural  ? 


156  Q-LENWOOD. 

She  thought  it  would  be  very  agreeable  to  change  the  homely 
name  of  Slusher  for  the  better  name  of  Gregg. 

Under  the  circumstances,  he  being  the  guardian  of  the 
little  Slushers,  they  met  frequently ;  and,  as  she  had  resolved 
to  successfully  besiege  this  seeming  impregnable  fortress,  she 
went  to  work  very  adroitly  to  accomplish  her  object.  She 
manifested  her  preference  in  a  very  delicate  manner,  putting 
on  all  her  youthful  blandishments, —  and  they  were  by  no 
means  niggardly, —  and  concentrating  the  whole  battery  of 
charms  upon  his  just  now  susceptible  heart.  Mr.  Gregg 
was  well  pleased  with  her  at  the  first  onset,  and  day  by  day 
her  power  increased ;  for,  seeing  that  she  had  made  an  im- 
pression, she  resolved  to  deepen  it, —  and  she  did  it. 

Mr.  Slusher  had  left  Mrs.  Betsey  one  half  of  his  property 
by  will,  which  caused  Mr.  Gregg  to  have  some  very  serious 
thoughts  in  relation  to  the  widow,  soon  after  her  husband 
died.  But  he  was  somewhat  fearful  of  that  long,  sharp  nose, 
and  those  snaky  black  eyes.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  a 
quiet  home,  having  great  aversion  to  a  noisy  one ;  and  he  was 
apprehensive  that  the  seven  smaller  editions  might  sadly 
interfere. 

Were  there  not  other  widows  and  marriageable  ladies  in 
town?  Certainly, —  who  ever  knew  of  a  scarcity?  They 
lacked,  however,  in  one  thing, —  money  ;  and  Mr.  Gregg 
wanted  that  more  than  a  wife.  On  account  of  his  pecuniary 
embarrassments,  and  as  the  black-eyed  Mrs.  Slusher  had 
manifested  a  decided  preference  for  him,  he  resolved  to  offer 
himself  to  her  in  marriage.  She  was  a  little  coy,  at  first,  as 
in  duty  to  the  sex,  especially  widows,  she  was  bound  to  be ; 
but  she  was  speedily  won,  which  is  not  an  uncommon  thing 
with  widows  who  would  like  to  change  their  lonely  condition. 


QLENWOOD.  157 

And  when  the  parties,  as  in  this  case,  have  learned  wisdom 
by  experience,  the  matter  is  readily  adjusted  ;  and  they  as- 
tonished the  people  of  Glenwood  by  being  married  in  a 
fortnight  after  the  courtship  commenced.  They  went  to 
Sklintonbog,  where  the  services  were  performed  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Lovelace,  a  clergyman  of  liberal  sentiments,  who  Mr. 
Gregg  said  was  the  most  powerful  preacher  in  the  county. 

So  short  had  been  the  courtship  that  Polly  had  never 
heard  of  it,  and  did  not  suspect  it ;  although  Mr.  Gregg  had 
returned  home  at  a  much  later  hour  than  was  his  custom, 
for  a  number  of  nights  in  succession.  She  thought,  poor  thing ! 
that  his  business  troubles  detained  him ;  and  they  did. 

After  his  marriage,  he  repaired  immediately  to  his  home, 
and  introduced  Mrs.  Gregg  to  Fanny  and  Polly.  At  first, 
the  latter  could  not  comprehend  it ;  but  when  she  realized 
the  truth,  she  gave  a  loud  shriek,  and  fell  —  on  the  sofa. 
She  was  carried  to  her  bed,  where  she  had  hysteric  fits  for 
the  next  twenty-four  hours. 

"  He  has  deceived  me,"  she  said, — "  terribly  deceived  me! 
I  shall  die  now,  I  know  I  shall !  To  think  that  I  should 
spend  the  flower  of  my  youth  in  vain  for  him  !  I  went 
away,  and  he  assured  me  that  his  happiness  depended  on 
my  return  !  Why  should  he  so  deceive  a  poor,  lone  woman  ? 
What  could  I  expect,  when  he  declared  that  his  happiness 
depended  on  my  presence  ?  And  I  have  waited  so  long, 
when  I  might  have  married  !  —  waited  for  him  !  —  and  now 
to  see  him  in  the  arms  of  another  !  0,  man !  man  !  You 
are  a  base  deceiver !  You  win  hearts,  and  then  cast  them 
from  you.  To  go  and  marry  that  artful  hussy,  and  leave 
me  in  my  lonely  desolation  !  —  He  will  suffer  for  it  —  he  will 
not  prosper  !  0,  what  a  terrible  world  this  is !  I  can  give  it 
14 


158  GLENWOOD. 

up  now  without  a  sigh  or  a  tear,  for  my  hopes  are  all  blasted. 
But  I  will  leave  this  place,  where  I  have  been  so  basely  de- 
ceived, and  return  to  my  home,  and  put  my  trust  no  longer 
in  man." 

As  soon  as  she  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  the  violent  shock  she  had  received,  Thomas  took  the 
horse,  and  carried  her  to  her  sister's.  She  said  that  she 
should  certainly  die ;  but,  as  she  did  not,  it  is  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  she  changed  her  mind.  In  a  brief  time  she 
was  as  bright  as  ever,  and  setting  her  cap  for  another  wid- 
ower ;  but,  like  all  her  marriage  speculations,  she  utterly 
failed  in  her  object. 

That  she  merited  better  success  is  certain,  for  persever- 
ance under  great  discouragements  is  a  virtue.  Polly  still 
felt  young,  and  that  was  one  half  of  the  battle ;  for,  feeling 
young,  she  acted  young,  and  her  faith  did  not  waver  at  all 
that  she  should  marry  as  soon  as  she  had  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  the  one  designed  for  her.  We  will  not  question  the 
soundness  of  her  faith,  but  leave  her  in  the  anticipation  of  a 
brighter  future,  hoping,  for  her  sake,  that  she  may  not  be 
disappointed. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GOOD-NATURED  CONVERSATION. A  NEW  WAY  OF   SMILING.  — MR.  GREGG 

APPOINTED   POOR-MASTER. BUGBEE   PURCHASES    TEA   FOR   MRS.    GUNI- 

MEDE.  CENSURES   THE   TOWN   FOR   MEANNESS. 

THE  seven  younger  Slushers  were  duly  installed  at  Mr. 
Gregg's.  They  were  an  ungovernable  set,  and  their  new 
parent  thought,  for  a  time,  that  their  clamor  would  drive 
him  mad.  In  some  respects  they  were  remarkable-look- 
ing children,  for  they  all  had  black  eyes  and  turn-up  noses, 
—  inheriting  one  feature  from  the  father,  and  the  other 
from  the  mother.  Their  noses  were  so  similar  that  they 
occasioned  frequent  witty  comments,  and  no  one  relished 
a  joke  of  the  kind  more  keenly  than  Zebulon  Bugbee. 

The  day  after  the  wedding,  Nehemiah  Goose,  Deacon 
Glubbings,  and  Mr.  Bugbee,  happened  to  meet  on  the  high- 
way, when  the  following  conversation  passed  between  them : 

"  I  have  a  compliment  for  you,  Mr.  Bugbee,"  said  Dea- 
con Glubbings. 

" For  me ?  "  he  replied.  "It  is  from  a  lady,  of  course. 
My  wife  says  that  I  am  tremenjous  sweet  on  the  ladies." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  returned  the  deacon;  "but  it  is 
somewhat  doubtful  whether  they  are  as  sweet  on  you." 

"  Envy,  deacon ! "  said  Mr.  Bugbee ;  "  sheer  envy !  Lord ! 
I  always  knew  that  I  had  a  handsome  face,  and  I  take  with 


160  GLENWOOD. 

the  wimmin  to  a  T.  But  none  of  your  dallering  ! — so  out 
with  it." 

"You  shall  be  gratified,"  said  the  deacon;  "only  be 
careful  and  spare  your  blushes.  A  lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance said  that  you  were  the  meanest  man  in  town." 

"  All  ironical  synonymous,  by  Jupiter  !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Bugbee. 

"  I  should  think  it  was,."  said  Mr.  Goose,  laughing. 
"  You  evidently  take  with  the  ladies  !  " 

"  There  are  always  deceptions  to  a  general  rule,"  said 
Mr.  Bugbee;  "  so  it  makes  no  pacific  odds.  But  I '11  bet 
my  hat  that  that  are  woman  is  a  widder  ! " 

"Done!"  said  Mr.  Goose.  "Now,  deacon,  give  us 
your  author !  " 

'  Mrs.  Betsey  Gregg,  formerly  Slush er,"  said  the  deacon. 
"  She  is  not  a  widow  now,  but  she  was  when  she  said  it." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  ye  'twas  a  widder?  I  knew  it !  "  said 
Mr.  Bugbee.  "Now,  I  know  what  made  her  say  it  —  'cause 
I  got  Mr.  Gregg  out  of  office." 

"That's  it,"  remarked  Mr.  Goose. 

"Mr.  Gregg  has  an  office,  now,"  said  the  deacon. 

"-Lord  !  I  should  think  he  had  ! "  returned  Mr.  Bugbee  j 
"  he  's  got  an  addition  to  his  family." 

"A  very  large  addition,"  Mr.  Goose  said. 

"I  presume,"  said  Mr.  Bugbee,  "that  it  makes  no 
pacific  odds  to  you,  but  you  don't  like  Gregg  more  'n  I  do, 
neither  on  ye.  Howsomever,  I  reckon  we  couldn't  wish 
him  anything  more  prognoxious  to  happiness  than  he 's  got 
in  that  are  fiery  widder  and  seven  children.  Only  think 
on 't, —  them  snaky  eyes  of  her'n,  and  that  long  row  of  flour- 
ishing turn-ups." 


GLEN  WOOD.  161 

This  sally  caused  a  hearty  laugh  from  Mr.  Goose  and 
Deacon  Glubbings,  in  which  Mr.  Bugbee  joined,  fairly  shak- 
ing with  a  sort  of  inward  chuckle,  as  he  always  did  when 
he  imagined  he  had  said  anything  particularly  funny,  de- 
claring, all  the  time,  that  he  couldn't  help  smiling. 

"  They  are  not  to  blame  for  their  features,"  said  Deacon 
Glubbings. 

"0,  Lord,  no!"  said  Mr.  Bugbee,  "for  they  did  n't 
make  'em! — wonder  who  did?  I  could  have  turned  out 
better  ones  in  my  mop-handle  machine  !  "  laughing  and 
shaking  his  sides  again. 

"After  all,"  said  Mr.  Goose,  "  they  are  promising  chil- 
dren ;  but  what  in  the  world  can  he  do  with  so  many  ?  " 

"So  many  what?"  asked  Mr.  Bugbee, —  "turn-ups? 
Boil  and  plant  'em  !  — of  course  he  likes  'em.  0,  Lord  !  I 
can't  help  smiling,"  chuckling  and  shaking  with  laughter ; 
"I '11  die  if  lean!" 

' '  He  will  never  domineer  over  the  present  Mrs.  Gregg, 
as  he  did  over  the  first,"  said  Mr.  Goose. 

"I  should  hope  not,"  said  Deacon  Glubbings;  "for 
although  his  first  wife  .was  one  of  the  best  of  women,  yet  she 
never  took  the  least  comfort  while  she  lived  with  him.  And 
there  was  poor  Delia,  the  most  beautiful-looking  girl  in 
Glenwood,  with  a  heart  as  tender  and  full  of  love  as  that 
of  her  mother,  turned  into  the  street,  without  money  or 
friends,  and  God  only  knows  what  has  become  of  her  !  I 
don't  wish  him  evil,  but  I  have  long  believed  that  he  would 
see  trouble  before  he  died." 

"  Don't  give  yourself  any  solicitousness  on  that  are 
score,"  said  Mr.  Bugbee,  "  for  he  has  got  a  whole  house- 
full  of  judgments  come  all  to  once,  like  a  tribe  of  savage 
14* 


162  GLENWOOD. 

injuns.  It  is  all  ironically  synonymous  of  the  futur. 
Lord,  won't  there  be  a  flashing  of  eyes  and  twitching  of 
hair,  one  of  these  days  ?  I  '11  die  if  I  can  help  smiling  to 
think  on  't !  "  and  again  he  chuckled  inwardly,  and  shook 
himself  all  over. 

;<  There  will  be  trouble  enough,  I  '11  warrant,"  said  Mr. 
Goose.  "  That  lazy  Thomas  will  have  to  budge,  and  Fan- 
ny will  not  be  allowed  to  play  the  lady  any  longer.  Betsey 
is  a  great  worker,  and  an  inveterate  scold  —  she  has  not  a 
lazy  bone  in  her  whole  body." 

"  And  her  tongue  is  n't  lazy  either,  ha?  "  said  Mr.  Bug- 
bee.  '  '•  It  never  gets  tired,  but  everlastingly  on  the  wag. 
What  a  waggish  thing  —  a  reglar  perpetual !  Mr.  Gregg 
oughter  make  his  for  tin  on  the  disci  very.  It 's  all  synony- 
mous of  what  is  to  come.  Poor  Gregg  is  taken  in  and  done 
for ! "  Another  inward  chuckle  and  shake  followed  this 
speech,  accompanied  with  the  oft-repeated  declaration  that 
he  could  n't  help  smiling. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  right  for  us  to  indulge  in  such 
kind  of  remarks  about  our  neighbors,"  said  Deacon  Glub- 
bings;  "so,  gentlemen,  we  had  better  drop  the  subject." 

The  three  now  separated,  Mr.  Bugbee  talking  to  himself 
as  he  wended  his  way  towards  his  shop,  saying,  as  he  sup- 
posed, very  witty  things  about  Mr.  Gregg  and  the  Slushers, 
to  imaginary  listeners,  and  smiling  as  hard  as  ever. 

As  Mr.  Goose  predicted,  Thomas  Gregg  soon  found  that 
home  was  a  most  undesirable  place.  The  noise  of  the  chil- 
dren was  intolerable  ;  and  the  evident  dislike  of  his  mother- 
in-law,  which  she  took  special  pains  to  manifest,  was  more 
than  he  could  submit  to ;  and  so  he  engaged  himself  as  a 
clerk  in  a  dry-goods  store,  in  Boston,  and,  the  next  year, 


GLENW001J.  163 

married, —  not  Miranda  Penelope,  however,  for  she  dismissed 
him  when  his  father  lost  his  property.  Fanny  remained  at 
home  two  years  after  Mrs.  Slusher  became  her  mother-in- 
law,  and  the  most  of  the  time  she  was  very  unhappy ;  but  she 
ended  her  present  sorrows  by  marrying  a  man  old  enough 
to  be  her  grandfather,  for  the  sake  of  his  money  and  a  home. 

Up  to  this  time,  Mr.  Gregg  was  uncertain  whether  he  had 
taken  a  wise  step  in  marrying  Mrs.  Slusher,  or  not.  He 
was  sometimes  glad,  and  sometimes  sorry.  Not  many  unkind 
words  had  passed  between  them,  for  she  well  knew  that, 
though  she  could  talk  the  fastest,  he  could  hold  out  the 
longest ;  and  so  she  determined  to  manage  him,  and  she  played 
her  part  well.  He  more  than  half  believed  that  he  fuled 
now,  as  formerly,  and  yet  everything  was  done  in  accordance 
with  the  views  of  his  wife.  Her  first  husband  knew  well 
what  a  venom  there  was  to  her  tongue,  while  Mr.  Gregg  was 
spared ;  but  she  was  as  great  a  scold  as  ever,  for  the  children 
now  received  an  extra  allowance, —  which  they  took,  however, 
with  no  bad  grace,  for  they  were  accustomed  to  it ;  in  fact, 
they  had  become  so  hardened,  that  the  severest  censure  did 
not  disturb  their  equanimity. 

In  accordance  with  the  instructions  given  by  the  town  to 
the  new  board  of  selectmen,  the  poor-farm  in  Sklintonbog 
was  sold,  and  a  farm  purchased  in  Glenwood,  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  village.  At  the  close  of  the  year,  the  paupera 
returned  to  Glenwood  ;  and  very  thankful  they  were,  for  they 
had  felt  severely  the  loss  of  their  accustomed  places  of  wor- 
ship, old  acquaintance,  and  scenes  which  they  had  loved  from 
early  childhood. 

Mr.  Burnpus  had  never  given  satisfaction  as  poor-master ; 
and  the  paupers  complained  so  bitterly  of  Arabella  Mehitable, 


164  GLENWOOD. 

that  it  was  thought  best  to  remove  him,  and  appoint  a 
new  master.  Mrs.  Gregg,  having  an  eye  to  the  profits,  per- 
suaded her  husband  to  apply  for  the  situation ;  and,  as  his 
was  the  only  application,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Bumpus' 
(who  petitioned  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  make  a  third 
year's  trial,  as  the  circumstances  were  more  favorable),  he 
obtained  the  appointment. 

Mr.  Gregg  and  wife,  in  taking  this  step,  had  but  one  ob- 
ject in  view,  and  that  was  to  enrich  themselves  by  the  opera- 
tion as  much  as  possible ;  and  the  poor  soon  learned  that  the 
change  was  far  from  being  beneficial  to  them.  Margaret 
Bumford  had  a  severer  mistress  than  Arabella  Mehitable ; 
and  Willie  Cunard  was  not  only  ill-used  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gregg,  but  by  all  the  junior  Slushers,  from  the  oldest  to  the 
youngest.  Exquisitely  sensitive,  he  keenly  felt  it  all,  and 
it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  more  pitiful  face  than 
his  was  now.  The  idea  of  kindness  in  the  hearts  of  his  fel- 
low-creatures seemed  to  completely  die  out,  and  he  looked 
upon  all  as  his  enemies.  Mrs.  Gunimede  was  too  demented 
to  notice  him  at  all ;  while  Margaret  Bumford,  usually  kind, 
in  some  of  her  moods  was  as  unfeeling  as  those  who  tyran- 
nized over  her.  Hector  Stifels  was  set  against  him  through 
the  influence  of  Arabella  Mehitable  Bumpus,  he  having  con- 
ceived for  her  the  tender  passion. 

Willie  required  the  care  of  a  kind,  motherly  woman,  as 
every  boy  does ;  but,  as  he  did  not  have  it,  his  garments  were 
exceedingly  mean,  and  gave  the  best  of  evidence  that  they 
were  entirely  unacquainted  with  water  and  soap.  The  coarse 
food  allowed  him  was  not  sufficient  in  quantity  to  satisfy  his 
wants ;  and  so  his  eyes  were  sunken,  his  cheeks  hollow,  and 
his  expression  wretched  in  the  extreme.  The  boys,  as  in 


OLENWOOD.  165 

Sklintonbog,  used  him  ill ;  the  girls  thought  it  beneath  their 
dignity  to  speak  to  him,  and  some  men  were  so  unfeeling  as 
to  make  him  a  butt  for  ridicule.  ^Vlr.  Gregg,  when  the 
young  Slushers  complained  of  him,  would  tie  him  up  by  his 
thumbs  and  chastise  him.  When  he  attended  school,  his 
dinner  was  a  piece  of  coarse  bread,  without  butter  or  cheese, 
and,  being  often  very  hungry,  -he  pilferexi  from  other  boys. 
If  detected,  the  teachers  punished  him ;  and  Mr.  Gregg  made 
it  a  rule —  as  some  parents  do,  shame  on  them  !  — of  whipping 
him  whenever  he  received  correction  at  school. 

Soon  after  Mr.  Gregg  was  appointed  poor-master,  another 
aged  couple  were  taken  to  the  alms-house,  and  the  woman 
united  with  Mrs.  Gunimede  in  begging  for  tea.  As  all  her 
prayers  were  in  vain,  she  became  very  indignant  and  saucy, 
frequently  telling  the  master  and  mistress  that  they  and  the 
whole  town  were  mean  enough  to  steal  the  coppers  from  a 
dead  man's  eyes.  She  went  about  among  the  neighbors 
begging  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  talking  continually  of  the  con- 
temptible littleness  of  the  people  of  Glenwood,  in  refusing  to 
provide  tea  for  the  aged. 

"  It  is  cruel,"  she  would  say,  "  the  basest,  meanest  cru- 
elty, when  they  require  it  so  much." 

One  very  pleasant  day,  Mrs.  Gunimede  ventured  to  take 
a  walk,  and  on  her  way  she  encountered  Mr.  Bugbee.  As 
soon  as  he  had  approached  within  speaking  distance,  she  said, 

"  My  dear,  good  man,  I  wish  you  would  give  me  just  a 
little  tea !  I  shall  die  if  I  can't  have  some  tea  !  " 

"  A  little  tea ! "  said  Mr.  Bugbee ;  "  what  do  you  want  of 
a  little  tea?  Where  do  you  put  up  ?  " 

' '  Put  up  !  I  don't  put  up  —  I  want  some  tea.  0  !  that  I 
should  ever  come  to  this  !  You  will  give  me  one  cup  of  tea  ? '  x 


166  GLENWOOD. 

"  Yes,  I  will  give  you  twenty  cups  of  tea,  if  you  want  'em, 
and  twenty  more  on  top  of  'em.  It  makes  no  pacific  odds 
to  me.  But  where  do  you  live,  old  lady  ?  " 

"Me?  I  don't  live  anywhere  —  I  stay  with  old  Greggor. 
But  will  you  give  me  twenty  cups  of  tea  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  twice  twenty." 

"Twice  twenty!  How  many  will  that  make?  Twice 
twenty  is  —  is  —  twice  twenty  is  —  " 

"  Forty,  my  good  old  lady." 

"  Forty  !  0,  how  much  I  shall  have  !  — forty  cups  of 
tea  !  I  shan't  die  if  I  can  have  forty  cups  of  tea.  0,  the 
Lord  will  bless  you  if  you  give  me  forty  cups  of  tea  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  expect  a  regular  shower  of  blessings ; 
for  have  the  tea  you  shall.     But  who  is  old  Greggor  ?  " 
'  "  He  keeps  the  poor-house,  over  there." 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Gregg  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Grigg." 

"  And  don't  he  let  you  have  any  tea  ?  " 

"  No,  he  don't  let  me  have  one  drop." 

"  What  a  mean  old  fellow  !  Don't  none  of  the  old  people 
have  tea?" 

"  Nobody  at  the  poor-house  has  any  but  him  and  her,  and 
those  little  Slutgers." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  way  the  town  takes  care  of  the  poor, 
it  is  mean  enough  !  Here,  let  me  help  you  to  set  right  down 
on  this  hillock,  and  I  '11  get  ye  some  tea  in  about  a  jiffin  or 
less.  There,  now,  old  lady,  keep  still,  and  I'll  bring  you 
some  !  "  And  away  he  went  on  a  fast  run,  for  a  man  of  his 
bulk  and  age.  But  he  suddenly  stopped  and  turned  round, 
and  said, 

"  What  kind  of  tea  will  you  have,  marin  ?  " 


GLENWOOD.  167 

"  Black  tea  —  nice,  black  tea ;  and  forty  cupa  !  " 

"  And  a  hundred  and  forty,"  he  replied,  starting  again 
for  the  store.  He  soon  returned,  bringing  with  him  a 
pound  of  Souchong  tea. 

"  There,"  he  said,  throwing  it  into  her  lap.  "  Now  you 
may  go  home,  and  make  some  tea,  and  drink  as  much  as 
you  like." 

"0,  bless  you  !  "  she  said,  "  everybody  bless  you  !  Such 
a  nice,  good  man  !  But  I  don't  know  as  they  will  let  me 
draw  it."  . 

"I  didn't  think  of  that.  Well,  well  —  it's  all  ironical 
synonymous,  so  I  '11  go  home  with  ye  ;  "  and  he  helped  the 
old  woman  to  arise,  and,  taking  the  tea,  walked  with  her  to 
the  poor-house.  When  there,  he  went  in,  and  told  Mrs. 
Gregg  that  he  had  bought  some  tea  for  an  old  lady  there ; 
and  if  it  did  not  make  any  pacific  odds,  he  should  like  to 
have  a  good  cup  made  for  her,  three  times  a  day ;  which 
Mrs.  Gregg  promised  should  be  done,  as  she  did  not  care 
how  much  tea  the  paupers  used,  if  people  were  foolish 
enough  to  buy  it  for  them.  She  thought  Mr.  Bugbee 
must  lack  common  sense,  or  he  would  not  throw  away  his 
money  in  purchasing  tea  for  half-crazy  old  women. 

Mr.  Bugbee  went  immediately  to  the  selectmen,  and  in- 
quired why  coffee  and  tea  were  not  furnished  for  the  paupers, 
and  was  told  that  the  town  could  not  afford  it. 

"Can't  afford  it?"  he  said ;  "what  is  the  reason  the 
town  can't  afford  it  ?  An't  there  folks  enough  in  Glen  wood 
to  buy  tea  for  a  few  old  people,  who  have  been  in  the  con- 
stant practice  of  having  it,  all  their  lifetime  ?  What  great 
odds  will  it  make,  I  should  jest  like  to  know?  " 

"  Tea  is  considered  a  luxury,"  it  was  said  iu  reply,  u  and 


-(£,-  e,4M 

168  GLENWOOD. 

the  town  voted  not  to  furnish  luxuries  for  the  poor.  Tea  is 
not  nutritious ;  and  Glenwood,  in  refusing  it  to  the  paupers, 
is  but  following  a  wise  precedent  set  by  other  towns,  a  long 
time  before  Glenwood  had  a  poor-farm." 

"  Don't  other  towns  let  the  aged  have  tea  to  drink  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Bugbee. 

"  They  do  not,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  they  are  almighty  mean,  and  Glenwood  is  meaner 
than  dirt  for  following  in  their  precedents,  and  that  's  all 
I  've  got  to  say  about  it !  "  said  Mr.  Bugbee. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SENDING   TO   A   CLERGYMAN   FOR  BRANDY. HECTOR'S  APPETITE. COAT 

OF    MANY    COLORS. SPEECH    ON    THE   TARIFF. IN    LOVE   WITH    ARA 

BELLA   MEHITABLE. A   NEW   KIND   OF   CHECK.  —  LAUGHABLE   JOKE. 

No  one  was  better  pleased  with  the  change  in  the  loca- 
tion of  the  poor-farm  than  Hector  Stifles.  While  his  mother 
lived,  he -resided  with  her  in  a  little  hut  in  the  north-west 
part  of  the  town,  four  miles  from  the  village,  and  so  he  but 
seldom  visited  the  latter  place.  While  in  Sklintonbog,  he 
did  not  go  there  at  all ;  but  now  he  was  only  half  a  mile 
away,  and  he  could  go  every  evening,  and  quite  often  in  the 
daytime.  The  boys,  and  many  of  the  young  men,  soon  be- 
came aware  that  he  was  a  rare  specimen  of  humanity,  with 
whom  they  could  have  as  much  fun  as  they  chose,  as  he 
seemed  to  think  that  he  must  do  whatever  was  required  of 
him  by  man,  woman,  or  child,  and  all  they  told  him  was 
true  to  the  letter. 

About  this  time,  the  temperance  reformation  was  making 
gome  stir  in  Glenwood,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Reek,  in  opposition 
to  the  views  of  Rev.  Wellington  Shackles,  \vho  thought  a 
clergyman  should  be  judicious,  preached  very  plainly 
against  the  use  of  distilled  liquors  as  a  beverage.  Some  of 
his  parishioners  were  much  excited,  and  severely  censured 
his  course.  Mr.  Bumpus  had  recently  opened  a  small  shop, 
15 


170  GLENWOOD. 

and  was  expecting  to  derive  a  large  part  of  his  profits  from 
the  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks,  having  fitted  up  a  room  in 
the  back  part  of  the  building  for  that  jurpose.  He  was  a 
member  of  Mr.  Reek's  parish ;  and,  as  he  thought  that  his 
minister  was  unjustly  interfering  with  his  business,  he  re- 
solved to  be  revenged;  and  so  he  sent  Hector  to  him  for  a 
gallon  of  brandy.  The  latter  had  frequently  been  sent  to 
the  shops  for  liquor,  and  rewarded  for  his  trouble  with  a 
taste  of  the  crittur,  and  so  he  was  glad  enough  to  do  the 
errand  for  Mr.  Bumpus.  He  thumped  loudly  on  the  front 
door,  as  he  was  told  to  do,  and  Mr.  Reek  soon  made  his 
appearance. 

"Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  was  that  you,  Hector?  You  have  a 
tough  fist,  to  pound  in  that  way  ;  what  do  you  wish  for  ?  " 

"  I  wants  to  git  a  gallon  o'  brandy,"  said  Hector. 

"  A  gallon  of  brandy,"  he  said,  thoughtfully;  "walk  in, 
Hector,  and  we  will  see  about  it."  The  family  had  just 
dined  on  roast  turkey  and  plum-pudding,  the  former  sent  in 
by  a  devoted  lover  of  the  temperance  cause.  "  Will  you 
sit  up  and  take  sonvj  dinner,  Hector?  " 

Like  poor  Joe,  in  Bleak  House,  Hector  thought  he  was 
in  luck  to-day,  and  he  thankfully  accepted  the  invitation. 
The  larger  part  of  the  turkey  and  plum-pudding  were  left, 
but  Hector  devoured  the  whole,  washing  it  down  with  fif- 
teen cups  of  best  Mocha. 

"  And"  so,  Hector,  you  came  after  a  gallon  of  brandy  ?  " 

"Yeth,  Misser  Rick;"  his  mouth  stuffed  with  turkey; 
"an'  I  bringed  the  money,  I  did." 

"How  do  you  enjoy  your  dinner,  Hector  ? '' 

"  0,  fus'  rate,  Misser.  Rick;  it's  good,  monstrous  good, 
't  is  !  I  never  seen  sich  a  fus'  rate  dinner,  afore." 


GLBNWOOD.  171 

"You  seem  to  have  a  v,erj  good  appetite,  Hector." 
"  Yether  ;  but  I  dunno  what  an  appetite  be, —  I  don't." 
"  I  mean  that  you  can  eat  heartily  —  a  whole  turkey  ot 
so  at  a  time,  and  a  plum-pudding." 

"  0  yeth,  Misser  Rick,  I  jist  does  that,"  thrusting  into 
his  capacious  mouth,  a  large  junk  of  turkey  and  as  much 
pud  ling  to  keep  it  company ;  "I  likes  turkey,  and  puden, 
and  razens  —  I  does." 

"  You  must  come  to  see  me  again.  Hector." 
This  invitation  from  a  clergjwnan,  whom  he  looked  upon 
with  so  much  awe,  wonderfully  astonished  Hector ;  and, 
with  a  piece  of  turkey  on  his  fork,  and  as  much  pudding  as 
he  could  conveniently  get  on  to  his  knife,  both  held  between 
his  plate  and  mouth,  he  gazed  wonderingly  at  Mr.  Reek, 
his  great,  staring  eyes  being  the  only  part  of  him  which 
was  not  perfectly  still  for  some  moments,  and  they  rolled  as 
only  Hector's  could.  When  he  was  satisfied  that  the  man 
was  not  insane,  he  replied, 

"Yeth,  Misser  Rick,  I  geth  I  will.  I  likes  to  come 
agin  —  I  does. ' ' 

"  What  do  you  want  of  so  much  brandy,  Hector?  " 
l-  0  lor  !  Misser  Rick.     I  don't  want  it  at  all  —  I  don't." 
"  Who  sent  you  for  it,  then?" 

Hector's  eyes  rolled  and  stared  again,  as  though  he  won- 
dered if  it  was  all  right ;  and  just  then  it  seemed  to  strike 
him  as  rather  strange  that  a  minister  should  keep  brandy  to 
sell  and  he  remembered  that  he  had  heard  Mr.  Gregg  de- 
nounce Mr.  Reek  for  preaching  against  drinking,  when  he 
should  be  preaching  the  Gospel. 

"  You  must  toll  me  who  sent  you  here  after  brandy." 
"  Yeth,  Misser  Rick  ,  I  '11  tell  ye,  I  will." 


172  GLENWOOD. 

"Well;  who  was  it?" 

"  Misser  Bumping  telled  me  to  come  here  and  git  it." 

"Mr.  Bumpus?" 

"Yether." 

"  You  go  and  tell  Mr.  Bumpus  that  he  should  be  in  bet- 
ter business." 

"  Yeth,  Misser  Rick ;  I'll  tell  him  jist  that,  I  will." 

Mr.  Bumpus  was  much  mortified  when  he  found  that 
Hector  had  informed  Mr.  Reek  who  sent  him  after  the  bran- 
dy, and  he  felt  that  it  would  not  do  to  send  a  fool  on  a  fool's 
errand.  This  foolish  joke  affected  Mr.  Bumpus'  pocket 
more  seriously  than  he  had  supposed  it  possible.  Every- 
body was  disposed  to  laugh  at  him,  and  he  could  only  quiet 
the  parties  who  gathered  in  his  store  by  a  treat  all  round  ; 
and  this  was  repeated  so  many  times  that  he  lost  hours  of 
sleep  in  thinking  of  it.  After  a  while,  however,  the  joke 
became  stale,  and  Mr.  Bumpus  was  left  in  peace. 

Mr.  Reek  continued  to  bear  faithful  testimony  against  the 
use  of  intoxicating  liquors,  until  his  church  was  burned. — 
the  work  of  an  incendiary, —  and  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
town.  But  the  seed  sown  was  not  thrown  away,  for  in  due 
time  it  sprang  up  and  bore  an  abundant  harvest.  It  seemed 
wicked,  however,  that  Mr.  Reek  should  have  been  obliged 
to  seek  a  location  elsewhere,  when  he  had  but  done  his  duty, 
while  Wellington  Shackles  remained  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
popularity.  But  here  was  the  difference :  Mr.  Reek  uttered 
his  thoughts  boldly,  in  the  fear  of  God,  with  true  love  for 
man ;  while  Wellington  Shackles  was  eminently  judicious, 
for  it  was  good  Lord  or  good  devil,  just  as  suited  best.  But, 
then,  the  exemplary  man  was  so  fond  of  peace,  and  wanted 
his  people  to  dwell  together  in  unity !  He  was  certain  that 


GLENWOOD.  173 

he  was  in  favor  of  all  the  reforms,  as  much  so  as  anybody , 
but  they  should  be  treated  judiciously,  and  so  he  would 
preach  about  them  in  such  a  way  that  his  hearers  could  not 
tell  whether  he  was  for  or  against ;  and,  in  fact,  he  scarcely 
knew  himself.  Arabella  Mehitable  Bumpus  once  remarked, 
in  the  sewing-circle,  that  she  did  not  exactly  understand 
him  when  he  preached  on  such  subjects ;  but,  without  doubt, 
the  peace-making  Mr.  Shackles  knew  just  where  he  stood ; 
and  so  she  was  satisfied  with  his  preaching,  and  thought  it 
well  calculated  to  promote  harmony  and  good-will  among 
the  people. 

Mrs.  Goose  said,  in  reply,  that  she  would  not  give  a  fig 
for  such  preaching.  She  wanted  the  plain,  naked  truth, 
and  not  such  "diluted,  namby-pamby,  dilettante  stuff" 

"  I  declare,"  she  continued,  "  that  persecuted  man,  Mr. 
Reek,  would  preach  more  truth  in  one  sermon  than  Welling- 
ton Shackles  in  a  whole  year  !  " 

"  I  call  that  slander  !  "  said  Arabella  Mehitable. 

"  That 's  what  father  thayth  !  "  said  Nannie  Pottle. 

"And  I  know  it  is  the  truth,"    said   Mrs.  Glubbings. 

At  this,  Arabella  Mehitable  held  up  both  hands  in  aston- 
ishment, and  Mrs.  Betsey  Gregg,  formerly  Slusher,  looked 
daggers  ;  and  there,  for  a  marvel,  the  discussion  ended. 

Soon  after  this,  the  young  men  had  a  coat  made  for  Hec- 
tor, of  many  colors,  with  which  he  was  mightily  pleased. 
And  it  was  of  many  colors  literally,  and  of  many  kinds  of 
goods, —  calico  and  silk,  plaid  and  red  flannel,  broadcloth  and 
striped  cassimere,  etc.  etc. 

It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  the  first  time  he  appeared  in 
his  new  garment,  and  there  was  a  large  gathenrg  on  the 
15* 


174  GLENWOOD. 

green  hill-side,  for  it  had  been  whispered  around  that  Hector 
was  to  come  out  to  make  his  maiden  speech. 

When  he  had  been  sufficiently  admired,  he  mounted  a 
chair,  with  a  false  leg  for  the  occasion,  and  commenced"  a 
speech  in  imitation  of  Mr.  Gregg ;  pulling  up  the  right  leg 
of  his  trousers,  as  that  distinguished  individual  was  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  previous  to  commencing  one  of  his  elo- 
quent harangues. 

"Mr.  Moditor,"  said  Hector;  "  I  ax  your  subdivided 
contention,  for  I 's  going  to  speak  on  the  tariff  Why,  the 
tariff,  gintlemen,  is  the  only  constitution  in  this  'varsal  Yan- 
kee nation  which  saves  our  towns  an'  cities  from  going  to  in- 
complete dissolution.  If  it  wan't  for  the  tariff,  sir,  the  green 
grass  would  grow  in  our  streets,  an'  our  wars  (wharves)  would 
come  to  be  as  they  was  in  the  days  of  the  gem-bargo.  Where 
is  the  danger,  thin,  gintlemen  ?  In  the  construction  of 
the  tariff.  If  that  goes,  we  are  all  gone,  past  condemption. 
Sir,  I  call  upon  you  to  hold  on  to  the  tariff,  for " 

Here  his  speech  was  suddenly  cut  short  by  some  one 
kicking  out  the  false  leg,  and  down  he  fell ;  when  three 
rousing  cheers  were  given  for  his  unanswerable  argument  in 
favor  of  the  tariff.  A  wag  told  him  that  the  tariff  had 
caused  the  fall  of  greater  men  than  he.  After  this,  Hector 
was  frequently  called  upon  for  a  speech  on  the  tariff,  and  he 
was  always  ready.  He  was  not  permitted  to  wear  his  coat 
of  many  colors  long,  for  such  a  crowd  of  boys  followed  him 
wherever  he  went,  that  there  was  a  continual  uproar  in  the 
streets, 

As  he  had  confessed  that  he  was  in  love  with  Arabella 
Mehitable  Bumpus,  he  was  assured  that  she  was  equally 
smitten  with  him  ;  and  so  he  hung  round  the  house,  as  other 


dLENWOOD.  175 

lovers  sometimes  do,  not  having  sufficient  courage  to  enter 
and  declare  his  passion ;  and  then  a  song  was  composed  for 
him,  which  he  sung  under  her  window,  to  the  tune  of  "Hi 
Betty  Martin."  His  serenade  met  with  such  a  reception 
as  to  entirely  dispel  the  illusion ;  for  the  lashing  which  she 
gave  him  from  her  chamber  window  so  terrified  him  that 
he  shunned  the  premises  ever  after. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  downfall  of  Hector's  hopes,  Mr. 
Bugbee  met  him  with  a  sheet  of  pasteboard  attached  to  his 
neck  by  a  small  cord,  on  which  was  pasted  a  large  handbill. 

"  What  in  the  nation,  Hector,"  said  Mr.  Bugbee,  "have 
you  got  there?  " 

"  Got  a  check  !  "  said  Hector. 

"  Got  a  check !     What  kind  of  a  check  ?  " 

"  Got  a  check  on  the  bank  ;  going  up  to  draw  it,  I  am." 

"  That 's  a  joke ;  au,  au,  au,  au !  I  can't  help  smiling, 
I '11  die  if  I  can  !  How  much  shall  you  draw,  Hector?  " 

"  Twenty  thousand  dollars  is  what  this  ere  check  says, 
an'  1 's  gonto  draw  um." 

"0,  my  gracious  !  what  a  lot !  What  will  you  do  with 
it  all?"  " 

"I'll  git  married,  I  will ;  an'  I  won't  have  Arabella, 
nuther,  I  won't. —  I'll  'corn  her  as  she  'corned  me,  I  will. 
I 's  gonto  bought  Mr.  Gregg's  big  house,  and  perside  in 
great  rupture  and  insignificance." 

"  Then  Arabella  will  feel  bad." 

"  I  geth  she  will ;  but  I  won't  have  her  now.  I  '11  'corn 
her  all  the  time  !  "  Here  Mr.  Bugbee  left  him  to  go  and 
get  his  check  cashed,  while  he  walked  towards  home,  smiling 
with  all  his  might. 

There  was  no  person  in  Glenwood  who  liked  a  good  joke 


176  GLENWO'OD. 

better  than  Mrs.  Goose,  especially  when  she  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it.  She  had  noticed  that  old  Mr.  Clasker,  one  of 
the  paupers,  was  very  arbitrary  with  Hector,  frequently 
striking  him  when  angry,  and  making  him  do  whatever  he 
pleased.  In  the  spring  Mr.  Gregg  often  sent  the  two  into 
the  fields  with  potatoes  to  plant,  or  with  ashes  for  the  corn, 
and  in  the  autumn  after  the  potatoes  which  had  been  dug  ; 
when  Mr.  Clasker  made  Hector  draw  the  whole  load,  while 
he  pretended  to  push  behind. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Goose  had  a  good  opportunity,  she  told 
Hector  that  he  ought  not  to  allow  Mr.  Clasker  to  tyrannize 
over  him  so,  and  make  liim  bear  all  the  burden. 

"  I's  afraid,  I  am,"  said  Hector;  "  for  he  strikes  me  so 
hard,  he  does." 

"  What  do  you  let  him  for  ?  " 

"  Cos  I  can't  help  it,  he's  so  strong.  Why,  he  telled 
me  that  he  's  jist  as  strong  as  a  mad  bull." 

"He's  only  fooling  you,  Hector.  You  are  as  strong 
as  a  dozen  of  him.  He  is  tall,  but  his  limbs  are  like  a  pipe- 
stem  ;  while  you  are  short  and  thick,  and  your  arms  are 
enormously  large,  and  when  you  walk  you  move  one  side  at 
a  time,  and  such  folks  are  as  strong  as  giants.  Now,  the 
next  time  you  have  a  load  to  draw,  you  make  him  get  into 
the  thills,  and  you  push  behind.  And,  if  he  blusters,  don't 
be  afraid,  but  double  up  your  fist  and  shake  it  at  him,  and 
make  him  do  as  you  say.  But  don't  you  strike  him,  Hector, 
or  hurt  him  in  the  least ;  if  you  do,  you  had  better  never 
see  me  again,  or  Mr.  Goose." 

Hector  promised  that  he  would  follow  Mrs.  Goose's  direc- 
tions; and,  soon  after,  being  sent  into  the  field  about  half 
a  mile  from  the  house,  for  potatoes,  he  carried  his  instruc- 


GLEN  WOOD.  177 

tion  into  effect.     When  they  were  loaded,  Mr.  Clasker  said, 
authoritatively : 

"  Get  into  those  thills,  Hector." 

The  latter  did  not  stir,  but  stood  eying  his  companion 
somewhat  doubtfully,  when  the  former  spoke  again : 

"  Why  don't  you  mind,  sir  ?  "     Still  he  did  not  move. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Mr.  Clasker,  in  a  passion. 
"  Get  into  those  thills  in  a  moment,  and  take  those  potatoes 
home,  or  I'll  punish  you,  rascal !  " 

"  I  shan't  do  no  sich  a  thing  !  "  said  Hector. 

"Dare  you  disobey  me?  In  there,  quick,  or  I'll  give 
it  to  you!  " 

"  You  git  in  thar,  yourself,  in  them  are  fills,  or  I  '11  guv 
it  to  yer,  I  will !  " 

"  I  get  in  there  !  I'll  not  do  it,  sir.  Take  your  place 
this  minute,  or  you  '11  be  sorry,  villain  !  " 

"Don't  yer  telled  me  to  git  in  thar,  for  I  won't  do 't! 
—  Git  in  yoursel, —  in  with  ye,  or  I  '11  put  my  fist  right 
inter  yer  face,  I  will ! "  and  Hector  walked  up  to  him  reso- 
lutely, shaking  his  fist  in  the  frightened  old  man's  face,  and 
he  dared  not  disobey ;  and  so  he  placed  himself  according 
to  directions,  for  the  first  time  drawing  home  the  load, 
while  Hector  walked  behind,  following  the  example  of  Mr. 
Clasker,  and  saving  some  of  his  strength  for  another  day. 
The  old  man  was  so  frightened  that  he  could  not  be  coaxed 
or  driven  anywhere  with  Hector  again,  unless  some  one  else 
Was  with  them. 

Mr.  Bugbee  never  laughed  more  heartily  than  when  he 
was  told  of  this  joke.  He  chuckled  and  shook  till  he  was 
unable  to  stand,  declaring,  over  and  over  again,  that  he 
could  n't  help  smiling. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    POOR-HOUSE    BOY. — THE     NEW    SCHOOL-TEACHER. HER     EXPERI- 
ENCE  WITH   WILLIE.  THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GOODNESS. 

WILLIE  CUNARD  was  still  the  same  sad,  neglected  boy, 
the  sport  of  the  unfeeling,  and  the  pity  of  the  wise  and 
good.  And  there  were  none  to  love  him,  and  this  made  him 
feel  that  he  was  an  outcast  from  human  sympathy.  He  did  not 
so  much  wonder,  however,  that  there  were  no  love  and  re- 
spect for  him,  when  he  thought  how  ragged  and  uncleanly 
he  was.  Now  and  then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face  in 
the  glass,  and  he  saw  that  it  had  nothing  attractive  ;  that  its 
expression  was  wretched,  while  his  long,  bushy,  uncombed 
hair  added  to  the  repulsiveness  of  his  face.  It  was  impos- 
sible, he  was  sure  that  it  was,  for  any  one  to  love  such  an 
unnatural,  unwholesome-looking  object  as  he.  But,  never- 
theless, he  felt  that  it  was  not  right ;  that  he  ought  to  be 
clothed,  fed,  and  respected,  like  other  boys,  and  kept  clean, 
and  not  be  misused  —  made  a  butt  for  the  witty  and  heart- 
less. At  times  he  would  steal  away  to  some  beautiful, 
shady  spot,  and  dream  over  the  past ;  and  then  he  would 
remember  when  he  did  not  have  to  go  hungry  —  when  he 
had  good  clothes,  and  his  hands  were  white  and  clean,  and 
everybody  loved  him. 


GLENWOOD.  179 

Sometimes,  in  his  reveiy,  he  would  forget  the  sorrowful 
present,  and  live  only  in  that  delightful  time  when  he  had 
a  kind  father,  and  a  dear  mother,  always  so  faithful,  press- 
ing him  so  fondly  to  her  large,  warm  heart.  And  now  the 
scene  would  change,  and  the  present,  with  all  its  horrors, 
came  back  to  fill  his  soul  with  unutterable  woe ;  and  he 
would  turn  his  face  to  the  ground,  and  lean  it  upon  his 
hands,  and  the  great  tears  of  agony  would  trickle  through 
his  fingers.  He  would  wonder  why  it  was  that  so  many 
were  enemies  to  him ;  that  he  should  be  starved,  whipped, 
ridiculed,  and  treated  as  an  outcast;  and  there  were  times 
when  he  almost  wished  that  he  had  been  born  a  fool,  like 
Hector,  so  that  he  might  not  suffer  when  imposed  upon,  as 
he  did  now, —  so  that  his  heart  might  not  bleed,  as  his  flesh 
did,  now  and  then,  when  whipped ;  and  that  he  might  forget 
as  quickly  the  many  indignities  which  were  heaped  upon 
him. 

Again,  he  would  wander  into  the  future,  and  he  was  no 
longer  a  poor-house  boy,  but  a  man  respected  and  beloved, 
and  basking  in  the  smiles  of  true  friends ;  and  he  had  won 
the  affections  of  the  black-eyed  girl,  who  once  seemed  to 
look  at  him  with  pity,  through  the  rounds  of  the  large, 
square  pews  at  church.  Now  they  were  married,  and  had  a 
delightful  cottage  of  their  own,  and  around  it  were  the  beau- 
tiful flowers  which  her  fair  hands  had  planted.  They  were 
all  the  world  to  each  other,  and  past  sorrows  and  indignities 
disturbed  him  no  more.  But,  alas !  this  waking  dream 
could  not  continue  long,  and  the  reality  again,  with  all  its 
horrors,  soon  looked  him  sternly  in  the  face  !  And  then  he 
thought  of  running  away ;  but  he  knew  not  where  to  go, 
and  by  what  means  he  could  obtain  subsistence.  As  he  had 


180  GLENWOOD. 

no  friends  where  he  was  known,  what  must  be  his  fate 
among  strangers  ?  He  wondered  if  people  were  everywhere 
so  unfeeling  and  hard-hearted  as  they  were  in  Glenwood. 
He  thought  that  there  was  a  strong  probability  that  they 
were,  for  in  Sklintonbog  he  had  met  with  the  same  persecu- 
tions as  here,  and  so  everybody  was  cruel,  and  none  cared  for 
the  friendless  and  unprotected.  The  world  was  his  enemy, 
and  he  would  be  the  enemy  of  the  world.  He  heard  the 
minister  say,  on  the  Sabbath,  that  he  must  be  good,  and  love 
his  enemies,  and  be  reconciled  to  all  the  allotments  of 
Providence ;  never  complain,  but  cherish  a  mind  of  con- 
tentment and  cheerfulness.  He  thought  the  minister  a 
hypocrite,  or  he  had  never  been  a  poor-house  boy,  and  had 
no  one  to  care  for  him  —  he  had  never  been  jeered  and 
mocked  until  there  were  but  few  faces  he  cared  to  look 
at.  He  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  go  hungry  and 
ragged,  and  dread  to  meet  a  fellow-creature,  for  fear  of 
abuse  and  insult.  If  he  had,  he  would  know  that  love  and 
reconciliation  were  impossible.  It  was  an  easy  matter  to 
say  such  things  in  his  pulpit,  having  plenty  to  eat  every 
day,  and  being  finely  clothed,  while  his  people  hung  with 
admiration,  and  almost  worship,  upon  his  lips.  But  let  him 
change  places,  and  such  preaching  would  be  but  a  mock- 
ery. 

There  was  one  man  whom  Willie  dreaded  to  meet  most  of 
all,  for  his  persecution  was  incessant.  Elam  Sacket  moved 
into  Glenwood  for  the  purpose  of  pedling  wooden  ware ;  but, 
becoming  tired  of  that,  he  turned  his  attention  to  Connecti- 
cut clocks,  and  travelled  over  the  country,  selling  enough  to 
give  him  a  decent  livelihood,  without  occupying  more  than 
half  of  his  time.  He  was  a  man  who  did  not  like  to  work. 


GLBNWOOD. 

and  cared  but  little  for  reading ;  a  very  lazy  fellow,  content 
to  loiter  around  the  stores,  taverns,  and  workshops,  and  spend 
his  time  in  telling  frivolous  stories,  uttering  stale  jokes  and 
witticisms,  relieved  now  and  then  by  cutting  satire,  which 
he  delighted  in,  and  the  deeper  the  wound  the  better  was 
he  pleased.  And  his  satire  was  the  most  severe  and  cutting 
upon  those  who  were  unable  to  return  it.  Let  him  come  in 
contact  with  his  equal,  and  his  pointed  arrows  were  dulled 
at  once,  and  he  would  adroitly  change  the  subject,  that  he 
might  escape  the  shafts  he  was  so  fond  of  aiming  at  others. 

This  was  the  man  whom  Willie  both  feared  and  hated. 
Wherever  he  met  him,  especially  if  there  were  others  present, 
he  was  overwhelmed  with  ridicule.  Not  that  these  inces- 
sant attacks  were  always  brilliant  or  witty,  for  they  were 
often  pointless  as  they  were  cruel.  But  they  served 
their  purpose  just  as  well,  and  Willie  was  made  as  wretched 
as  it  is  possible  for  a  child.  He  would  sometimes  try  to 
avoid  Sacket,  and,  if  he  went  into  a  store  while  he  was  there, 
immediately  resolve  to  leave  it;  but  his  persecutor  would 
usually  manage  to  detain  him  as  long  as  he  wished.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  charm  to  his  evil  eye,  which,  snake-like, 
often  held  Willie,  in  spite  of  the  strong  desire  to  break 
away  from  it.  The  serpent  knew  his  power  over  the  de- 
fenceless well,  and  he  used  it  whenever  he  chose ;  and  the 
more  his  victim  suffered,  the  better  was  he  pleased.  The 
mischief  did  not  stop  here,  for  Sacket's  course  gave 
the  boys  a  license  to  treat  Willie  with  still  greater  indig- 
nity. 

There  were  those  in  Glenwood  who  never  abused  him  or 
ridiculed  him ;  and  they  felt,  as  very  many  do  under  similar 
16 


182  GLENWOOD. 

circumstances,  sorry  for  him,  and  they  would  not  for  the 
world  have  spoken  an  unkind  word,  or  added  one  drop  to 
his  bitter  cup.  Such  were  Deacon  Glubbings  and  wife,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Goose,  and  many  others.  But  here  their  sympa- 
thy stopped,  for  they  did  nothing  to  better  his  condition. 
And  was  this  all  that  was  required  of  them  ?  Should  they 
have  been  satisfied  with  merely  wishing  ?  To  have  stepped 
between  him  and  his  persecutors,  would  have  done  some 
good.  To  have  taken  him  away  from  that  miserable  poor- 
house,  and  given  him  a  home,  would  have  made  the  wretched 
child  happy,  and  the  very  angels  of  God  to  rejoice.  But, 
as  benevolent  as  they  were,  they  did  nothing,  for  they  had 
children  of  their  own  to  care  for;  and  so  Sacket  still 
persecuted  Willie,  often  aided  by  others,  and  those  who 
were  present  joined  in  the  laugh ;  and  even  Mr.  Bugbee, 
who  was  very  kind-hearted,  and  furnished  tea  for  Mrs.  Gun- 
imede  as  long  as  she  lived,  would  frequently  laugh  heartily 
at  Willie's  expense,  protesting  that  he  could  n't  help  smil- 
ing, but  it  was  too  bad.  Poor  Willie  ! 

For  a  number  of  winters,  the  money  expended  for  teach- 
ing, at  the  principal  school  in  the  village,  might  as  well  have 
been  thrown  away,  for  there  was  a  continual  conflict  between 
the  master  and  pupils.  It  commenced  one  New  Year's 
day,  when  the  scholars,  for  the  sake  of  a  joke  at  the  teach- 
er's expense,  fastened  him  out,  during  the  noon  intermission. 
Two  held  the  nail  over  the  door,  and  it  was  struck  with  a 
stone  by  each  member  of  the  school,  Willie  included.  The 
teacher  was  so  angry,  that  he  procured  an  axe  to  cut  the 
door  down ;  and,  to  prevent  this,  one  of  the  older  girls  broke 
off  the  nail,  and  let  him  in.  His  first  words  were,  when  he 
entered,  "I  will  find  out  who  did  this  !"  He  questioned 


GLENWOOD.  183 

every  pupil,  and  they  all  denied  it ;  and,  with  a  look  in 
which  he  gave  them  to  understand  that,  though  baffled  then, 
he  should  not  always  be,  he  went  on  with  the  exercises  of 
school.  In  the  evening  he  made  a  visit  to  the  alms-house, 
and,  as  Willie  still  said  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  as 
agreed  upon  by  the  scholars,  Mr.  Gregg  and  the  master 
tied  him  up  by  his  thumbs  and  whipped  him  until  he  re- 
vealed the  whole.  The  result  was  that  some  were  punished, 
some  subjected  to  humiliating  confessions,  and  others  ex- 
pelled from  school. 

The  master  won  the  victory,  so  he  thought ;  but  it  was 
dearly  bought,  for  there  was  no  more  peace,  and  the  school 
closed  before  the  money  was  expended.  The  next  two 
winters  witnessed  no  improvement,  but  the  evil  had  in- 
creased. 

When  Willie  was  twelve  years  old,  Deacon  Glubbings  was 
chairman  of  the  school  committee ;  and  he  was  in  favor  of 
employing  a  young  woman  to  teach  the  school,  if  the  right 
one  could  be  found.  The  other  members  had  no  faith  in  the 
scheme,  but  they  were  willing  that  he  should  take  the  re- 
sponsibility. Hearing  of  a  young  lady  in  Yamford,  who 
had  had  a  few  months'  experience  in  teaching,  he  went  to  see 
her.  He  found  her  all  that  he  desired,  well  accomplished, 
beautiful,  and  with  the  most  winning  manners ;  and  so  he 
engaged  her  to  teach  the  winter  school  for  the  larger  scholars 
at  Glenwood.  At  first  she  instinctively  shrank  from  the 
responsibility,  for  the  deacon  gave  her  a  faithful  history  of 
former  troubles.  But  he  urged  her  so  muchx  and  as  her 
parents  encouraged  her  to  make  the  trial,  she  at  last  yielded 
her  reluctant  consent. 

And  who  does  the  reader  think  this  beautiful  young  lady 


184  GLENWOOD. 

was?  He  has  surmised,  no  doubt,  that  it  was  Jeannie 
Wyman ! 

Deacon  Glubbings  found  the  Wymans  the  same  united 
and  happy  family  as  of  old,  and  more  cheerful  than  when 
the  reader  made  his  last  visit,  for  they  felt  less  keenly  now 
the  loss  of  the  dear  departed.  Those  loved  ones  were  not 
forgotten, —  0,  no  !  —  but  the  old  wounds  were  healed,  and 
there  was  reconciliation  in  all  their  hearts. 

The  good  grandmother  was  still  living,  having  become 
more  corpulent,  but  she  was  as  well  and  kind  as  ever.  Mr. 
Wyman  was  in  excellent  health  and  spirits ;  but  his  wife 
was  afflicted  with  a  cough,  which  caused  the  family  some 
anxiety,  and  we  observe  that  her  face  has  less  color  and 
fulness. 

Jeannie  was  now  in  her  sixteenth  year,  and  the  people  of 
Glen  wood  believed  it  a  great  piece  of  folly  to  employ  a  girl 
like  her  to  teach  and  govern  such  an  unruly  set.  The 
scholars  thought  the  idea  decidedly  novel;  and  each  one 
queried  how  she  looked,  and  what  she  would  do  with  young 
men  and  women  older  than  herself. 

The  morning  that  school  began,  the  pupils  were  early  in 
their  seats,  and  Jeannie  entered  the  school-room  with  some 
trepidation,  knowing  that  all  those  bright  eyes  were  blazing 
upon  her.  She  deliberately  "took  off  her  things,"  and 
hung  them  up,  and  then  gave  one  glance  at  the  scholars ; 
and  there  were  so  many  —  such  large  boys  and  girls,  some 
men  and  women  grown — that  her  heart  sunk  Afithin  her;  and 
she  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand,  when,  in 
spite  of  all  that  she  could  do  to  control  her  feelings,  she 
wept.  During  this  time  all  the  members  of  the  school 
maintained  the  most  perfect  silence,  so  that  if  a  pin  had 


GLEN  WOOD. 

dropped,  it  could  have  been  heard  distinctly.  They  ali 
seemed  struck  with  amazement  at  her  youth,  her  beauty, 
her  nameless  grace,  and  the  gentleness  and  suavity  of  her 
whole  aspect.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  they  were 
surprised ;  for  they  knew  of  no  reason  why  such  a  young, 
lovely  damsel,  but  little  more  than  a  child,  should  be  chosen 
to  teach  such  a  school. 

She  soon  gained  the  mastery  over  her  emotions,  and 
arose  and  commenced  the  exercises.  From  the  first,  the  vic- 
tory over  those  ungovernable  natures  was  complete.  She 
brought  no  ferules,  or,  more  properly,  clubs,  to  make  the 
children  fear  and  obey  her ;  but  it  was  simply  herself,  with 
her  own  magic  beauty  and  goodness,  the  sweetness  of  her 
temper,  the  warm,  trusting  love  of  her  heart,  that  won  the 
battle,  and  never,  for  a  moment,  lost  any  of  the  vantage- 
ground.  And  yet  there  was  perfect  order — no  whipping  or 
scolding.  It  would  have  made  her  heart  ache  for  days  if 
she  had  struck  a  blow ;  and  sometimes,  when  she  had  chidden 
severely,  she  would  go  home  and  weep,  fearing  that  she  had 
been  unjust,  or  had  said  more  than  the  nature  of  the  offence 
demanded. 

No  one  had  been  so  indifferent,  in  regard  to  the  new  in- 
structor, as  Willie.  He  had  heard  that  a  woman  was  to 
teach  the  school,  but  he  cared  not.  The  teachers  had  never 
taken  any  notice  of  him,  except  to  correct  him,  which  they 
had  done  often ;  they  had  never  seemed  to  care  whether  ho 
improved  or  not,  and  he  expected  nothing  better  from  a 
female  teacher  than  from  a  male.  If  she  was  beautiful  and 
much  beloved,  she  would  only  dislike  him  so  much  the  more. 
But  the  first  glance  of  her  awoke  him  from  his  indifference, 
and  he  seemed,  for  a  time,  like  one  entranced ;  for  he  almost 
16* 


186  GLENWOOD. 

thought  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  being  more  than  mor- 
tal. He  had  never  dreamed  that  a  creature  of  earth  could 
look  so  beautiful  and  good. 

As  she  heard  the  different  classes  read,  and  gave  out  the 
various  lessons,  she  noticed  that  the  pale,  dirty,  ragged  boy, 
Willie,  was  watching  her  closely.  She  looked  at  him  ear- 
nestly, and  he  turned  away  his  gaze.  Her  heart  ached  as 
she  saw  how  sadly  he  was  neglected,  and  he  seemed  instinct- 
ively to  feel  that  she  pitied  him.  She  went  to  him,  and 
spoke  to  him  with  more  of  pathos  and  kindness  than  she 
could  have  done  to  any  other  child  in  school ;  for  she  felt  it 
all  in  her  heart  —  she  perceived  that  here  was  a  naturally 
fine  boy  uncared  for  and  abused.  Willie  listened  to  her 
words  in  wonder ;  and  when  she  asked  him  a  question  about 
his  studies,  he  tried  to  answer,  and  leaned  his  head  against 
her  and  wept.  The  tears  sprang  to  her  own  eyes ;  but,  as 
many  of  the  scholars  were  gazing  upon  the  strange  scene, 
she  quickly  wiped  them  away,  and  whispered  to  Willie  not 
to  cry,  and,  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  happened,  turned 
away,  and  directed  her  attention  to  other  duties. 

A  chord  had  been  touched  in  Willie's  heart,  and  it  vibrated 
sweetly,  as  it  never  had  done  since  his  mother's  death. 
Heretofore  his  time  had  been  wasted,  and  he  could  scarcely 
read  at  all ;  but  he  wished  that  he  could  now,  and  he  felt 
ashamed  to  have  the  teacher  know  what  a  miserable  scholar 
he  was.  His  determination  was  at  once  fixed,  that  he  would 
study  all  the  more  diligently,  and  she  should  know  that  he 
was  not  so  dull  and  stupid  as  he  seemed  to  be,  and  could 
learn  as  well  as  others.  He  took  hold  with  resolution,  and 
Jeannie  aided  and  encouraged ;  and  his  success  was  all  that 
she  could  have  desired  during  the  first  week  of  the  term. 


GLENWOOD.  187 

Mr.  Gregg  was  away  when  the  school  commenced,  and  did 
not  return  until  the  latter  part  of  the  week.  On  Monday 
he  visited  the  school,  and  told  the  teacher,  before  all  the 
pupils,  that  Willie  was  a  bad  fellow,  and  she  must  be  very 
strict  with  him. 

"  I  do  not  find  him  so  very  bad,"  she  said. 

"You  are  deceived,"  replied  Mr.  Gregg.  "The  Bible 
says,  '  Trust  not  to  appearances,  but  judge  righteous  judg- 
ment.' That  boy,  Miss  Wyman,  is  a  pauper,  and  a  very 
vile  one.  Mrs.  Gregg  and  myself  have  had  a  trial  with  him 
—  yes,  a  trial.  We  have  managed  to  get  along  with  him 
somehow,  but  it  has  been  a  terrible  trial.  Correction, 
severe  and  —  and  prompt,  has  been  the  only  —  alternative. 
You  cannot  trust  him  at  all  —  no,  not  at  all.  He  is  cun- 
ning to  deceive,  stealthy  in  theft,  and  ingenious  in  —  in 
falsehood.  He  is  so  idle  and  lazy  that  he  will  not  learn. 
For  the  proof  of  what  I  have  said,  I  refer  you  to  those 
present,  who  know  him  well  —  to  those  from  whom  he  has 
stolen  their  dinners,  and  then  denied  it.  Only  chastise- 
ment, such  as  he  richly  deserves,  will  keep  him  within 
bounds.  It  is  expected,  Miss  Wyman,  by  Mrs.  Gregg  and 
myself,  that  you  will  do  your  whole  duty  in  relation 
thereto." 

When  Mr.  Gregg  had  thus  delivered  himself,  he  bowed 
stiffly  and  walked  out  of  the  house,  thinking  what  a  fool 
Deacon  Glubbings  was  to  employ  a  little,  silly  girl  to  teach 
such  a  school. 

Poor  Willie !  his  heart  almost  died  within  him,  as  he 
listened  to  Mr.  Gregg's  harangue.  Jeannie  looked  at  him 
inquiringly,  hoping  that  she  might  detect  the  evidence  in 
his  countenance  of  the  falsity  of  these  charges ;  but  he  could 


188  GLENWOOD. 

not  lift  his  head.  When  a  number  of  the  children  whispered 
to  her  that  he  had  stolen  from  them,  and  then  lied  about  it, 
confirming  the  words  of  his  accuser,  she  felt  very  sorrowful, 
and  knew  not  what  course  to  take.  He  was  unable  to  look 
her  in  the  face :  —  was  that  proof  of  guilt,  of  repentance,  or 
was  it  merely  shame  at  the  exposure  ? 

Poor  Willie  !  He  had  resolved  to  do  so  well ;  to  learn  so 
much ;  to  suffer  for  food,  rather  than  steal  it ;  to  be  so  faith- 
ful, that  he  might  win  his  teacher's  love,  and  have  the  privi- 
lege of  listening  to  those  sweet  words  which  so  thrilled  his 
whole  being !  But  now  all  was  lost.  She  thought  him  as 
vile  as  did  others ;  she  despised  him  too,  and  he  should  never 
win  one  friend.  He  did  not  care  now  to  learn ;  and  he  had 
little  fear  of  chastisement, — he  was  used  to  that ;  and  yet  he 
felt,  though  he  knew  not  why,  that  he  would  rather  anybody 
else  in  the  world  should  correct  him  than  she. 

Jeannie  soon  noticed  the  difference  in  his  lessons,  and  she 
was  at  a  loss  whether  to  attribute  it  to  what  Mr.  Gregg  had 
said,  or  to  his  natural  inclination  to  shirk  and  neglect  his 
studies,  as  was  evident  he  always  had  done. 

Another  week  passed  away,  and  he  had  become  utterly 
indifferent ;  and,  though  Jeannie  told  him  sternly  that  she 
should  have  to  correct  him,  if  he  did  not  leave  play,  and 
attend  to  his  studies,  it  did  no  good.  At  length  he  was 
detected  in  the  act  of  stealing  one  of  the  scholars'  dinners. 
That  night,  Jeannie  went  home  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  be- 
fore she  closed  her  eyes  in  sleep  she  prayed  earnestly,  while 
the  tears  trickled  down  her  face,  that  she  might  be  guided 
aright  in  the  management  of  that  poor  child.  She  knew 
that  Mr.  Gregg  was  making  bitter  complaints  for  her  neglect 
of  duty  ;  and  yet  she  resolved  to  only  do  what  she  thought 


GLENWOOD.  189 

was  for  the  best.  She  believed  that  correction  was  some- 
times necessary,  though  she  had  no  faith  in  corporal  punish- 
ment. She  felt  that  the  child,  as  well  as  the  man,  instinct- 
ively rebels  against  the  indignity  of  a  blow ;  and,  though 
usage  may  deaden  this  instinct,  yet  nothing  is  gamed,  but 
the  loss  is  great.  She  did  not  believe  that  the  will  of  the 
child  should  be  broken,  but  rather  brought  into  subjection 
to  reason.  It  should  be  preserved  in  all  its  original  strength, 
and  directed  aright ;  for  then  it  would  serve  as  a  propelling 
power  for  good.  A  boy  with  his  will  broken  by  severe  casti- 
gations  and  continued  censures  can  never  be  the  man  that 
he  otherwise  would  have  been.  She  was  aware  that  men 
and  women  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  whip  that  a 
blow  disturbed  them  very  little;  and,  though  they  might  obey 
their  masters  in  all  things,  and  receive  the  greatest  indigni- 
ties without  the  red  blood  for  once  mantling  the  cheek,  yet 
it  did  not  prove  that  they  were  the  more  exalted  because  of 
these  things, —  because  of  ready  submission  to  insult, —  but 
the  reverse.  Their  wills  had  been  broken; — true,  and  they 
were  left  poor,  spiritless  things, —  abject,  degraded  slaves. 

Jeannie  knew  that  in  her  home  the  children  were  never 
whipped,  and,  if  her  parents  resorted  to  punishment  at  all, 
they  were  careful  not  to  wound  unnecessarily.  And  they 
never  passed  sentence  when  angry ;  their  rebukes  were  all 
given  in  a  low  tone,  and  yet  in  a  manner  not  to  be  mistaken. 
No  loud,  harsh  words  had  been  heard  there ;  and  when  the 
parent  censured,  the  child  knew  that  it  was  from  a  strong 
sense  of  duty,  and  the  offender  wept  because  of  the  offence, 
and  because  of  the  sorrow  to  the  good  parent's  heart.  Jean- 
nie resolved  that  this  example  should  not  be  lost  upon  her, 


GLENWOOD. 

and  that  she  would  govern  her  pupils  as  her  parents  gov- 
erned at  home. 

The  next  day,  when  the  school  was  dismissed,  Jeannie 
told  Willie  that  she  wished  to  see  him  after  the  other  chil- 
dren were  gone.  He  had  been  expecting  correction  ever  since 
he  attempted  to  steal,  and  now  he  thought  that  he  should 
receive  it ;  and,  feeling  that  it  was  no  use  to  run  away,  for 
he  should  have  to  meet  her  on  the  morrow,  he  sat  down, 
apparently  with  a  dogged  indifference.  Some  of  the  other 
boys,  seeing  that  Willie  was  detained,  lingered  around  the 
house,  and  gave  each  other  knowing  winks  and  nods,  which 
finally  found  utterance  in  such  school-boy  phrases  as  these : 
"  Well,  he  '11  have  to  take  it  now  !  "  "  Cunard  Js  in  for  it !  " 
"  I  knew  he  'd  catch  it !  "  etc.  etc. 

Jeannie  sat  for  some  minutes  with  her  face  leaning  upon 
her  hand ;  and  when  she  lifted  her  head,  and  was  about  to 
speak  to  Willie,  she  unconsciously  glanced  at  one  of  the 
windows,  and  she  encountered  three  pairs  of  eyes.  She 
,  now  looked  at  the  others,  and  found  that  there  were  boys 
at  every  window ;  but  they  all  suddenly  disappeared  the 
moment  they  met  her  glance.  She  went  out  and  chid  them 
for  this  breach  of  etiquette,  and  requested  them  to  go  home 
at  once,  and  they  immediately  obeyed.  She  then  returned, 
and  resumed  her  seat,  and  said : 

"Willie  Cunard,  come  here." 

He  slowly  obeyed  the  command,  querying  in  what  manner 
she  would  punish  him,  for  he  saw  no  stick  or  ferule. 

"  Willie,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  disappointed  in  you, 
sadly  disappointed.  At  the  commencement  of  the  school, 
you  were  one  of  the  best  boys  I  had,  and  no  one  made  more 
progress  in  his  studies  than  you.  But  you  have  become  —  I 


GLENWOOD.  191 

am  sorry  to  say  it,  Willie  !  —  very  idle,  and  almost  wholly 
neglect  your  lessons,  spending  your  time  in  play ;  and  yet 
you  can  scarcely  read  at  all.  I  had  expected  better  things 
of  you.  And  yesterday,  Willie, —  only  think  of  it !  —  you 
were  caught  in  the  mean  act  of  stealing  !  " 

She  now  took  hold  of  his  right  hand,  and  Willie  instinct- 
ively tried  to  draw  it  away,  for,  though  he  saw  no  ferule, 
yet  he  fancied  she  had  one  concealed ;  for  very  many  times 
had  his  faults  been  arrayed  before  him,  and  the  teacher  had 
ended  his  charges  by  taking  his  right  hand,  and  feruling 
him  severely.  Jeannie  held  it  firmly,  and,  after  the  first 
impulse,  he  did  not  wish  its  release.  There  was  an  exquisite 
thrill  to  her  touch,  like  that  he  experienced  when  he  first 
caught  the  glance  of  her  eye,  only  it  was  much  more 
intense.  Its  effect  upon  him  was  magical  indeed ;  and  how 
bitterly  he  repented  his  idleness,  his  lack  of  obedience,  and, 
most  of  all,  the  taking  of  that  which  was  not  his  own  !  He 
now  hoped  that  she  would  not  strike  him,  for  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  endure  it.  Others  might  punish,  and  he  could 
receive  it,  as  he  had  done ;  but  a  blow  from  her  would  be 
too  much.  He  was  willing  to  fall  down  and  kiss  the  dust 
at  her  feet,  beseeching  her  pardon ;  but  he  could  not  be 
whipped. 

Jeannie  gazed  anxiously  into  his  face,  but  she  saw  no  evi- 
dence of  hardened  guilt.  The  more  she  studied  his  counte- 
nance, the  stronger  was  the  conviction  that  the  whole  diffi- 
culty was  to  be  charged  to  the  usage  he  had  received.  Those 
who  neglected  and  abused  him  were  to  blame,  and  not  he. 
As  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  her  mind,  large 
tears  stole  down  her  cheeks.  When  Willie  saw  them,  he 


192  GLENWOOD. 

also  wept,  and,  falling  upon  his  knees,  he  buried  his  face  in 
her  dress,  and  said  : 

"  0,  don't  ferule  me  !  I  can't  bear  it !  I  will  never  steal 
again  !  I  wil  study  and  obey  you,  but  do  not  strike  me  ! " 

"  And  do  you  fear  punishment  so  much  as  this?  •' 

"  Yes,  0  yes  !  from  you  I  fear  it !  " 

"  From  me  !    And  why  from  me,  Willie  ?  " 

"You  are  so  good,  so  beautiful,  that  I  cannot  have  you 
strike  me  !  " 

' '  You  are  stronger  tnan  I,  and  I  have  no  weapon,  no 
ferule,  except  that  little  thing  for  the  books.  We  are  alone, 
Willie,  and,  if  I  should  strike  you.  you  could  return  the 
blow " 

"  No  !  no  !  I  could  not !  I  would —  would  not  strike  you 
for  all  the  world  !  " 

"  And  I  shall  never  strike  you ;  and  we  shall  always  be 
friends — always,  Willie." 

At  these  words,  Willie  cried  in  good  earnest.  But 
Jeannie  said  to  him  : 

"  Don't  cry  any  more,  but  arise  and  take  a  seat.  Now, 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  why  you  attempted  to  steal  the  din- 
ner of  Henry  Davis,  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  was  hungry  ;  but  I  will  never,  never  do  it  again!  " 

"  Do  you  not  have  enough  to  eat?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  What  do  you  bring  for  your  dinner  ?" 

"  Some  bread." 

"  What  kind  of  bread  ? —  rye  and  Indian  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Is  it  buttered?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 


GLENWOOD.  198 

"You  have  cheese  with  it,  I  suppose ?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Do  you  never  have  anything  but  coarse  bread  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  always  bring  to  school  for  my  dinner." 

"  Don't  you  have  pie,  or  apples,  or  cake  ?  " 

"  Never  anything  but  bread." 

"  This  is  all  very  wrong,  Willie  ;  and  I  do  not  blame  you 
so  much  for  stealing,  the  dinners  of  your  schoolmates  ;  but 
I  would  not  do  it,  for  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  go 
hungry." 

"  I  know  it  would  ;  and  I  will  never  take  any  again." 

"  I  believe  you ;  I  know  you  never  will.  I  shall  trust 
you,  Willie,  and  not  doubt  you  at  all.  But  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  why  it  was  that  you  learned  so  well  when  the  school 
first  commenced,  and  now  neglect  your  studies,  scarcely 
learning  at  all  ?  " 

"Because  —  because  I  thought  you  so  very  good,  and 
because  you  —  you  spoke  —  spoke  so  kindly  to  me.  I  was 
ashamed  that  I  —  I  could  not  read  and  spell,  and  I  wanted 
to  become  a  good  scholar." 

"  You  learned  very  fast  for  a  few  days ;  why  did  you 
change  your  mind  ?  " 

"Mr.  Gregg  came  in  and  told  you  how  —  how  wicked  I 
was  ;  and  then  I  could  not  look  you  in  —  in  the  face  any 
more,  for  I  —  I  thought  you  —  you  believed  him  ;  and  some 
way  I  did  n't  care  any  —  any  more  about  learning,  or  trying 
to  be  good,  for  —  for  nobody  would  care  for  me." 

"  Poor  child  !    I  was  fearful,  all  the  time,  that  such  were 

your  thoughts.     But  I  shall  care  for  you,  Willie,  and  love 

you  very  much,  I  know,  for  you  have  such  a  good  heart ; 

and  you  will  study  and  learn,  for  my  sake  and  your  own. 

17 


194  G  LENWOOD. 

and  no  boy  in  school  will  make  greater  improvement  than 

you." 

"  Yes,  I  will  study,  and  I  will  learn.  0  !  you  are  so 
very  kind !  I  thought  everybody  were  bad,  but  I  know 
they  are  not  now. 

"You  have  seen  the  dark  side  of  life,  poor  boy!  but 
better  days  will  come,  and  so  you  must  study  that  you  may 
be  a  man,  worthy  and  intelligent.  Thoughtless  people  have 
made  you  doubt  the  goodness  of  the  human  heart ;  but  you 
are  deceived,  for  there  are  more  good  people  than  bad  ones  ; 
so  you  must  cheer  up,  and,  I  d<  ubt  not,  you  will  soon  be 
surrounded  with  friends." 

"  Shall  I?  I  wish  that  I  could  be.  I  remember  when  I 
was  loved ;  but  that  was  a  long  time  ago,  before  father  or 
mother  died.  I  wasn't  a  poor-house  boy  then,  and  I  was 
not  so  dirty  and  ragged,  and  I  could  read  a  great  deal  better 
when  mother  died  than  I  can  now." 

"  I  should  presume  so.  Do  your  schoolmates  treat  you 
ill?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  But  you  have  one  friend;  "  and  she 
gave  him  a  look  with  those  sweet  blue  eyes,  which  went  to 
his  heart;  "and  I  hope  that  you  will  soon  have  more.  I 
shall  change  my  boarding-place  to-night,  and  board  down 
beyond  the  poor-house,  at  Mrs.  Jones'  ;  and,  as  I  shall  not 
go  home  at  noon,  I  shall  bring  a  luncheon,  and  I  will  give 
you  all  you  want,  for  I  never  eat  but  little  at  noon.  To- 
morrow I  wish  you  to  let  me  see  what  you  bring  for  your 
dinner,  will  you  ?"  <.,^ 

"Yes,  ma'am." 


GLENWOOD.  195 

"And  now  there  is  one  more  thing  which  I  will  say  to  you , 
and  I  do  it  for  your  good,  so  you  must  not  be  offended." 

"  0  no  !  I  cannot  be  ;  I  can  weep,  but —  but  I  cannot  be 
offended  with  you." 

"Your  hands  are  very  black  and  dirty,  and  your  face  is 
not  so  clean  as  it  should  be ;  and  here  is  a  nice  little  hand- 
kerchief which  I  bought  on  purpose  for  you.  Now,  be  care- 
ful and  wash  you  a  number  of  times  every  day ;  and  to- 
morrow you  will  commence  with  your  lessons,  and  I  doubt 
not  you  will  outstrip  all  the  rest." 

Willie  gave  Jeannie  an  earnest  look  of  gratitude,  and 
started  for  home  ;  but  his  heart  was  so  light  that  his  feet 
hardly  seemed  to  touch  the  ground;  and  he  felt  that  now  he 
could  endure  all  things  and  suffer  all  things.  She  had 
opened  a  new  world  to  him,  and  revived  his  dead  faith  in 
human  goodness. 

That  night  he  dreamed  of  Jeannie  —  that  she  held  him 
by  the  hand,  and  he  felt  such  an  exquisite  thrill  of  pleasure 
that  he  thought  he  could  willingly  let  her  hold  it  forever. 
And  then  a  beautiful  angel  came,  whom  he  conceived  to  be  hia 
mother, —  yet  she  looked  not  like  her  at  all, —  and  she  smiled 
upon  them  both. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

POOR-HOUSE     PARE.  —  JEANNIE's      BOARDING-MISTRESS      PUZZLED. AN 

AFFECTING   STORY.  —  ITS   RESULTS. — PLAN   FOR   ESCAPE. 

DURING  the  intermission,  the  next  day,  when  the  other 
members  of  the  school  had  gone  to  their  homes  or  were  en- 
gaged in  play,  Willie  carried  his  "dinner"  to  the  teacher. 
She  looked  at  it  with  astonishment,  for  it  consisted  entirely 
of  crusts  of  mouldy  bread,  and  there  was  not  half  enough  in 
quantity  for  a  well  and  hearty  boy.  She  took  the  crusts  and 
went  to  the  door,  and,  with  more  anger  than  she  ever  remem- 
bered of  feeling  before,  threw  them  as  far  as  she  could ;  and 
then  came  back  and  gave  him  nearly  all  she  had  brought  for 
herself,  and  the  amount  was  by  no  means  niggardly.  After 
this,  Willie  had  one  good  meal  every  day  ;  for  Mrs.  Jones, 
noticing  that  Jeannie  ate  sparingly  at  breakfast  and  supper, 
provided  liberally  for  her  dinner  such  hearty  food  as  boiled 
tongue,  doughnuts,  sandwiches,  mince-pie,  and  the  like.  As 
there  was  seldom  anything  in  the  basket  when  Jeannie 
returned  at  night,  the  good  woman  felt  almost  as  much  as- 
tonished as  the  landlady  in  David  Copperfield,  at  the  time 
the  large  waiter  ate  the  custard-pudding  and  drank  the  beer. 
"  Take  care  of  that  boy,"  she  said,  referring  to  David,  who 
she  supposed  had  ate  and  drank  all  that  was  set  before  him, 


GLENWOOD.  197 

"  or  he  '11  bust."  Mrs.  Jones  might  not  have  had  the  same 
fears  ;  but  it  was  a  mystery  to  her  how  any  one  could  eat  so 
much  and  remain  so  small.  And  sometimes,  when  Jeannie 
was  afflicted  with  headache,  and  could  eat  scarcely  any  sup- 
per at  all,  her  landlady  did  not  attribute  it  so  much  to  a  close 
room,  bad  air,  and  the  thousand  perplexities  of  a  large  school, 
as  she  did  to  the  quantity  she  consumed  at  dinner-time. 
She  did  not  care  for  the  food  in  the  least ;  but  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  speak  a  word  of  caution,  now  and  then,  in  a  kind, 
motherly  way,  that  Jeannie  might  be  induced  to  use  more 
care  when  very  hungry,  and  not  overload  her  stomach,  for 
it  was  very  sure  to  cause  lassitude  and  headache. 

"  However,"  she  would  say,  "  I  know  what  it  is  to  be 
hungry  at  school,  especially  if  I  did  not  have  much  appetite 
for  breakfast.  I  used  to  eat  so  much,  quite  frequently,  that 
I  went  home  with  a  sick-headache.  I  presume  that  keeping 
school  gives  one  a  keener  appetite  than  merely  studying  and 
reciting.  How  did  you  like  your  dinner  to-day  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  was  Jeannie's  usual  answer  to  this  oft- 
repeated  question. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  do  like  to  see  people  who 
board  with  me  eat  as  though  they  enjoyed  my  cooking ;  and, 
though  I  don't  pride  myself,  yet  the  children  do  say  that  no 
food  tastes  quite  so  good  as  mother's.  But,  then,  I  don't 
think  much  of  that ;  for  I  thought  just  so,  when  I  was  a  girl. 
I  dare  say  you  think  the  same  of  your  mother's  cooking. 
Well,  if  I  can  only  get  something  that  you  can  eat,  I  shall 
be  satisfied." 

To  such  and  similar  remarks,  which  were  made  frequently, 
Jeannie  answered  with  a  quiet  smile,  or  with  an  assurance 
that  her  victuals  were  always  very  good. 
17* 


198  GLENWOOD. 

Willie's  progress  was  now  so  rapid  that  Jeannie  was  highly 
gratified,  and  the  children  all  wondered  what  had  wrought 
such  a  marvellous  change,  making  the  idle,  vicious  one 
the  best-behaved  and  the  most  studious  boj  in  school.  That 
Jeannie  was  well  pleased  Willie  did  not  doubt,  for  her 
glances  of  approval  made  his  heart  to  burn  within  him.  Aa 
she  passed  by  the  alms-house  to  and  from  school,  he  fre- 
quently had  the  benefit  of  her  company  ;  and  much  did  he 
prize  these  interviews,  for  she  spoke  to  him  words  of  encour- 
agement, and  explained  his  grammar  lessons,  or  his  sums 
in  arithmetic.  The  poor  fellow  was  now  terribly  mortified 
with  his  tattered  garments  —  much  more  so  than  when  he  was 
idle  and  vicious.  There  was,  however,  a  marked  improve- 
ment in  his  appearance.  His  face  and  hands  were  no  longer 
begrimed  with  dirt ;  his  hair  was  neatly  combed,  and  teeth 
white.  He  almost  worshipped  his  teacher,  and  thought  that 
an  angel  could  not  be  purer  or  more  beautiful  than  she. 
Every  word  she  spoke  to  him  was  treasured  in  his  heart, 
and  he  sought  to  gratify  her  every  wish. 

By  making  inquiries,  Jeannie  learnecl  Willie's  early  his- 
tory, and  she  resolved  to  use  it  for  his  benefit.  When  she 
had  fully  matured  her  plan,  she  told  the  scholars,  one  day, 
that,  if  they  would  remain  after  school  was  dismissed,  she 
would  relate  to  them  a  story,  which  she  believed  would  in- 
terest them,  and  do  them  good. 

When  the  different  classes  were  through  with,  she  remarked 
that  it  might  be  desirable  that  some  should  return  home 
immediately,  and  if  so  she  would  riot  detain  them.  The  ses- 
sion had  closed  for  the  day,  and  any  one  was  at  liberty  to 
go,  though  she  wished  them  all  to  remain.  The  pupils  re- 
spected and  loved  her,  and  not  one  left  the  room.  She  sat 


GLENWOOD.  19ft 

down  a  moment  and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and 
then  arose,  and;  with  her  clear,  musical  voice,  8poke  as 
follows : 

"  I  have  promised  you  a  story ;  and,  if  you  will  give  me 
your  undivided  attention,  you  shall  now  have  it ;  and  every 
word  shall  be  true,  and  that  will  make  it  so  much  the  more 
interesting. 

"  Not  many  years  since,  a  family  lived  at  the  West,  con- 
sisting of  three  persons, —  the  husband  and  wife,  and  one  son, 
a  bright,  beautiful  little  boy,  whom  everybody  loved.  For 
various  reasons,  it  was  thought  best  for  them  to  leave  the 
West,  and  remove  to  New  England.  They  came ;  but  for- 
tune favored  them  no  more  here  than  there,  and  the  father 
of  this  beautiful  little  boy,  who  had  been  sickly  for  some 
years,  daily  grew  more  feeble,  and  the  mother's  health  also 
failed.  But  the  boy  was  still  beautiful,  dressed  with  care,  and 
kept  clean ;  and  people  said  how  handsome  and  bright  he  is, 
and  young  girls  were  very  proud  to  lead  him  by  the  hand. 
Our  little  friend  was  then  quite  happy,  notwithstanding  that 
his  parents  were  very  poor,  for  he  had  so  many  to  love  him. 
It  may  be  that  you  do  not  realize  how  much  love  and  sym- 
pathy can  do ;  they  can  cheer  the  saddest  lot  in  life. 

"  The  father  died,  and  the  mother  was  unable  to  provide 
for  her  child.  Often  did  he  lay  his  little  head  upon  his 
pillow  at  night  and  weep  himself  to  sleep,  he  was  so  hungry. 
His  face  soon  became  pale  and  disconsolate,  his  clothes 
ragged  and  uncleanly,  and  the  children  slighted  him  when 
he  most  needed  their  sympathy.  The  beautiful  little  girls, 
who  had  been  so  proud  to  take  his  hands,  and  walk  with 
him  in  company,  now  treated  him  with  contempt.  This 
was  a  sad  change  for  the  poor  boy,  and  he  would  have  had 


200  GLENWOOD. 

no  solace  at  all,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  mother.  Her  love 
was  unchangeable,  and  it  was  the  only  green  spot  in  his  life 
—  all  else  was  barren  desert. 

' '  You  love  your  kind,  good  mothers,  and  you  would  feel 
very  sad  to  lose  them.  Our  little  friend  loved  his  mother, 
more  dearly  perhaps  than  you,  for  he  had  no  one  else  to  love. 
But,  alas !  ere  long  she  too  died,  and  the  poor  boy  was  left 
alone ;  for,  as  incredible  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  he  was  not 
aware  that  he  had  a  single  relative  or  friend  in  the  world. 
Who  now  would  pity  —  who  love  him,  or  give  him  a  home  ? 
Poor  and  friendless,  the  alms-house  was  his  only  refuge,  and 
thither  he  was  sent. 

"  If  his  lot  was  deplorable  when  his  mother  was  living,  it 
was  ten-fold  more  so  now.  She  loved  him  ;  and,  as  I  have 
told  you,  love  can  do  much.  At  the  alms-house  he  received 
but  little  care ;  he  was  clothed  meanly,  and  his  food  was 
coarse,  and  dealt  out  with  a  niggardly  hand.  For  trifling 
oflences  he  was  severely  punished,  and  so  he  became  a  piti- 
ful object  indeed.  As  he  had  no  one  to  defend  him,  the 
thoughtless  imposed  upon  him,  and  ricRuled  him ;  the  chil- 
dren sneered  at  and  abused  him.  It  was  no  marvel  that,  by 
and  by,  he  came  to  believe  that  all  hearts  were  hard  —  that 
none  would  ever  love  him.  0  !  what  a  miserable  life  he  led, 
and  how  guilty  were  those  who  so  cruelly  wronged  him  ! 
You  have  such  good  friends,  that  you  can  scarcely  realize 
his  hopeless  condition.  At  school  he  fared  no  better,  from 
teacher  or  pupils ;  and  he  often  went  away  by  himself,  and 
wept  in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul.  How  strange  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  lot  of  others  should  be  so  happy,  and  his  so 
wretched !" 

Jeannie  now  stopped  and  looked  round  upon  her  audience, 


QLENWOOD.  201 

and  there  were  tears  trickling  down  many  faces.  The  silence 
which  prevailed  showed  that  she  had  created  a  deep  interest 
in  every  mind;  and  she  was  about  to  resume  her  story,  when 
they  were  all  startled  by  a  wild  cry  of  grief.  Every  eye 
was  directed  to  the  spot  from  whence  it  came,  and  they  saw 
Willie  Cunard  lying  at  full  length  upon  the  floor,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  sobbing  loud  and  bitterly.  The  effect 
was  electrical,  for  all  the  members  of  that  school  knew,  in  a 
moment,  that  he  was  the  hero  of  the  tale,  and  they  were 
self- condemned.  No  kindness  or  respect  had  they  ever  felt 
for  him ;  they  had  stung  him  with  ridicule,  and  abused  him 
from  day  to  day. 

Jeannie  immediately  went  to  Willie,  and  raised  him  up 
with  great  tenderness,  whispering  words  to  comfort  and  cheer 
him.  And  now  there  was  a  scene  which  can  be  more  easily 
imagined  than  described.  The  children  gathered  around 
him  and  expressed  their  sympathy,  promising  to  be  his  faith- 
ful friends  in  every  emergency.  The  more  noble  confessed 
how  little  and  mean^id  been  their  conduct  towards  him, 
and  hoped  he  would  pardon  them.  To  Willie  this  sudden 
revolution  was  astounding,  and  he  could  hardly  believe  his 
own  eyes  and  ears. 

A  few  days  after  this  interesting  scene  had  transpired,  his 
playmates  manifested  their  good  will  by  furnishing  him 
better  clothes.  One  boy  brought  him  a  jacket,  another  a 
vest,  another  a  pair  of  pants,  and  another  stockings,  boots,  a 
cap.  &c.  These  garments  were  all  second-handed,  but  in 
good  condition,  and  they  much  improved  Willie's  appearance. 
He  now  felt  like  a  new  being,  and  quite  happy,  in  spite  of 
the  indignities  he  so  often  received  at  the  alms-house.  He 


202  GLENWOOD. 

came  to  love  his  books  and  school-mates  dearly,  and  to  look 
forward  with  hope  for  brighter  days.  So  great  was  the  prog- 
ress he  made  in  his  studies,  that  at  the  close  of  the  term 
no  scholar  in  that  school  of  his  age  was  his  superior. 

But  ere  long  he  began  to  grow  gloomy  and  despairing 
again ;  for  his  teacher  must  take  her  departure  soon,  and 
then  he  felt  that  he  should  lose  his  only  faithful  friend. 
The  more  he  learned,  and  the  more  respect  was  shown  him 
by  Jeannie  and  his  playmates,  the  more  did  the  insults 
which  he  daily  received  from  the  hands  of  those  who  tyran- 
nized over  him  eat  into  his  soul.  But,  as  he  could  see  his 
friend  every  day,  and  read  her  approving  looks,  and  walk 
home  with  her  occasionally  from  school,  and  have  many 
things  explained  to  him  on  the  way,  the  instruction  coming 
from  her  sweet  lips,  the  wrong  could  be  borne  for  a  season. 
But  when  she  shall  have  gone,  he  thought,  his  patience 
would  be  too  sorely  tried,  and  he  must  sink  into  his  former 
indifference,  or  flee  from  the  hand  of  the  oppressor.  Poor 
fellow  !  He  was  unacquainted  with  the  world,  and  he  knew 
not  where  to  go,  or  by  what  means  to  obtain  a  subsistence. 
He  had  read  but  little,  either  of  books  or  papers,  and  who 
would  impart  to  him  the  information  he  required?  Inex- 
perienced as  he  was,  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  success 
seemed  insurmountable ;  and  yet  he  resolved  to  make  his 
escape,  and  seek  somewhere  in  the  wide  world  a  better 
home  than  the  alms-house.  He  felt  degraded  now,  and 
there  were  too  many  who  still  imposed  upon  him.  His 
schoolmates  had  learned  to  respect  him,  but  he  feared  their 
feelings  would  change  when  the  mistress  had  gone. 

The  day  before  the  school  closed,  Jeannie  and  Willie 


GLENWOOD.  203 

walked  home  together,  when  the  following  conversation 
passed  between  them : 

"Well,  Willie,  the  school  closes  to-morrow.  Are  you 
glad  or  sorry?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss  Wyman  ! " 

"  I  am  rejoiced  that  you  are ;  but  you  have  studied  very 
hard,  and  it  will  be  a  respite  to  you." 

"  I  am  not  tired  of  study  —  I  like  it  very  much  !  " 

" It  gives  me  pleasure  to  hear  you  say  so;  and  you  may 
well  feel  proud  of  the  progress  you  have  made,  fairly  out- 
stripping all  your  competitors." 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  be  proud ;  for  to  you  I  owe  it  all !  " 

"  But  I  did  not  study  or  learn  for  you !  " 

"I  know  you  did  not,  but  you  were  always  ready  to 
assist,  and  never  impatient.  I  feel  as  though  I  had  been  in 
a  new  world,  since  you  detained  me,  that  night,  as  I  supposed 
for  the  purpose  of  correction.  I  knew  you  would  be  pleased 
if  I  got  my  lessons  well,  and  at  first  my  greatest  desire  was 
to  gratify  you ;  but  by  and  by  I  became  fond  of  my  studies, 
and  while  at  school  I  have  forgotten  that  I  was  a  poor-house 
boy  —  I  have  forgotten  the  unkindness  and  ridicule  which 
made  me  so  unhappy  —  I  thought  of  nothing  but  the  books 
I  studied,  and  the  pleasure  which  my  success  seemed  to  give 
you.  I  have  been  very  much  happier  than  I  was,  and  many 
of  the  boys  and  girls  are  very  good  to  me." 

"You  have  done  nobly,  Willie,  and,  now  that  you  are  in 
the  right  path,  you  must  follow  it.  Don't  let  anything 
tempt  you  to  turn  aside ;  for  by  and  by  you  will  be  a  man, 
and  then  what  you  have  learned  will  be  invaluable  to  you. 
You  have  gained  the  respect  of  those  who  thought  that  you 
were  a  very  vile  boy.  Do  they  all  use  you  well  now?  " 


204  GLENWOOD. 

» 

"With  very  few  exceptions.  There  are  some  who  seem 
envious ;  but,  if  they  wrong  me,  I  shall  not  wrong  them. 
They  would  like  me  better  if  I  was  more  ignorant.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  you,  I  should  have  always  remained 
ignorant." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  do;  for  this  winter  would  have  gone  like 
the  rest  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  know  riot 
what  I  shall  do  when  you  are  gone  !  " 

"  Shall  you  miss  me,  Willie?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am,  everyday;  and  I  shall  have  —  no  —  no 
one  to  —  to  encourage  me.  I  shall  have  to  bear  my  sorrows 
alone  !  " 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  remain  at  the  poor- 
house?" 

"  No.  ma'am,  and  I  cannot.  I  don't  feel  as  though  I 
could  stay  another  day  after  you  are  gone  !  " 

"  What  would  you  do, —  run  away  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  running  away,  a  great  many  times, 
but  I  have  neither  clothes  nor  money :  and  yet  I  must  go, 
for  I  cannot  live  in  a  poor-house,  to  be  looked  down  upon 
by  everybody,  and  treated  as  I  am  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregg, 
and  the  children  !  " 

"My  father  says  that  it  is  a  hard  world  for  a  friendless 
child ;  but,  if  I  were  you,  I  should  rather  trust  it  than  stay 
where  you  are." 

"  So  I  have  often  felt,  and  go  I  shall.  If  I  should  re- 
main and  not  have  you  here  to  encourage  me,  I  fear  that 
I  should  forget  my  books  and  studies  —  forget  to  keep 
myself  clean;  and  so  I  should  lose  all  that  I  have  won 


GLENWOOD.  205 

through  you,  and  become  what  I  was  when  you  first  saw 
me." 

"That  would  be  lamentable,  and  you  must,  therefore, 
leave  the  alms-house.  But  you  are  too  young  and  inexperi- 
enced to  go  out  into  the  wide  world  alone.  You  might  not 
readily  find  employment.  When  you  escape  from  here,  you 
must  go  directly  to  my  home,  and  there  you  shall  be  wel- 
comed. I  can't  promise,  but  I  think  that  father  will  em- 
ploy you ;  and  then  my  home,  Willie,  will  be  yours  also. 
However,  you  must  remain  where  you  are  until  I  return 
home,  and  then  I  will  write  to  you  and  give  the  necessary 
directions.  You  may  require  money  on  the  way,  and  so  you 
take  this  three-dollar  bill  and  put  it  in  some  safe  place,  until 
you  are  ready  to  start.  Let  me  think.  If  I  should  direct 
my  letter  to  you,  Mr.  Gregg,  or  somebody  else,  might  take 
it  out  of  the  office.  I  will  put  my  oldest  brother's  name 
upon  it,  Frank  Wyman,  and  you  be  sure  and  inquire  for 
it." 

"I  thank  you  very  much  indeed.  How  long  will  your 
visit  be?" 

"A  few  short  weeks." 

"  I  fear  they  will  be  very  long  ones  !  " 

"  To  yourself,  you  mean  ?  Well,  I  hope  not.  But  do  not 
be  too  impatient." 

"  I  will  try  not  to  be ;  but  how  I  long  for  the  hour  to 
come  when  I  shall  leave  that  terrible  place  forever  !  " 

The  next  day  the  committee  visited  the  school,  and  were 
highly  gratified,  praising  both  teacher  and  pupils.  Deacon 
Glubbings,  in  his  speech,  alluded  particularly  to  Willie 
Cunard,  and  expressed  surprise  and  admiration  at  the 
progress  he  had  made. 
18 


206  GLENWOOD. 

There  were  not  many  dry  eyes  when  Jeannie  in  a  few 
appropriate  remarks  took  her  leave  of  the  school ;  and  Willie 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  desk,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  sobbed  so  loud,  that  she  was  moved  to  go  to 
Him  and  speak  a  few  soothing  words,  before  school  was  dis- 
missed. She  could  not  say  much  to  him  afterwards,  for 
the  children  gathered  around  her,  and  some  went  with  her 
to  her  boarding-house.  What  she  did  say,  however,  was  to 
the  purpose ;  for  her  words  inspired  Willie  with  the  hope  of 
happier  days. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

HIDDEN      TREASURE      DISCOVERED. PUNISHMENT      OF      THE     SUSPECTED 

CULPRIT.  —  WILLIE'S    ESCAPE.  —  WANDERINGS.  —  is    CARED  FOR  BY 

STRANGERS. 

LONG  and  dreary  seemed  the  days  to  Willie,  now  that  his 
beloved  teacher  had  gone.  He  had  no  heart  to  work,  and 
yet  he  must  toil  from  morning  till  night,  without  a  moment 
for  reading  or  recreation.  How  anxiously  he  looked  forward 
to  the  time  of  deliverance  from  this  hated  bondage  ! 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregg  were  greatly  incensed  against  Jeannie 
for  the  exposure  she  had  made  to  the  whole  school  of  Willie's 
treatment  at  the  alms-house.  The  latter  did  not  fare  any 
worse,  however,  but  rather  better ;  for  they  feared  her  mild, 
reproving  eyes,  and  the  influence  she  had  acquired  with 
both  parents  and  children.  Arabella  Mehitable  Bumpus 
was  very  indignant,  and  said  that  Jeannie  Wyman  was  a 
slanderer ;  but  few  believed  it. 

About  four  weeks  after  the  school  had  closed,  Margaret 
Bumford  was  stirring  up  the  straw  in  Willie's  bed, —  a  thing 
which  was  only  done  semi-annually, — when  she  found  a  three- 
dollar  bill,  wrapped  up  in  quite  a  large  piece  of  brown  paper. 
Willie  had  placed  it  there,  thinking  that  it  would  be  per- 
fectly safe.  As  ill-luck  or  the  fates  would  have  it,  Margaret 
took  it  into  her  head  to  stir  up  the  straw  some  weeks  before 


208  GLENWOOD. 

the  usual  time ;  and  so  she  found  the  bill  only  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  owner  would  have  drawn  it  from  its  hiding-place. 
She  had  very  little  acquisitiveness  —  was  proverbially  hon- 
est —  and  she  immediately  carried  the  bill  to  Mrs.  Gregg, 
and  told  her  where  she  found  it.  That  night  Willie  was 
called  to  an  account  for  having  in  his  possession  a  three- 
dollar  bill. 

Previous  to  his  acquaintance  with  Jeannie  Wyman,  he 
would  at  once  have  denied  any  knowledge  of  the  matter  ;  but 
now  he  could  not  tell  a  falsehood.  She  had  talked  to  him 
of  the  meanness  and  sin  of  lying ;  and,  whatever  the  conse- 
quences might  be,  he  must  speak  the  truth,  or  refuse  to  speak 
at  all.  He  was  taken  into  one  of  the  back  rooms  of  the  alms- 
house,  and  informed  that  Margaret  Bumford  had  found  a 
three-dollar  bill  in  his  bed,  and  no  one  else  but  he  could 
have  put  it  there,  and  so  he  must  confess  where  he  ob- 
tained it. 

This  discovery  was  very  unexpected  to  Willie,  and  he  knew 
not  what  reply  to  make. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  money?"  said  Mrs.  Gregg. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  "  thought  Willie.  "  I  must  not  tell 
: — I  must  not  expose  my  dearest  friend  ;"  and  he  remained 
silent,  with  his  eyes  cast  upon  the  floor. 

"  This  business  must  be  cleared  up,"  said  Mr.  Gregg. 
"  It  looks  very  suspicious,  my  young  man.  You  could  not 
have  come  by  the  money  honestly  ;  and  so  you  must  confess 
—  tell  us  the  whole  truth  in  relation  thereto." 

"  Did  you  secrete  the  money?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Gregg. 

"  I  did,"  replied  Willie. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  she  said  to  Mr.  Gregg.  "  He  is  always  up 
to  some  devilish  mischief.  0  !  you  villain  !  "  shaking  her 


GLENWOOD.  209 

fist  in  his  face.     "  From  whom  did  you  steal  it  ?  —  Tell  me 
that !  " 

"  I  did  not  steal  it,"  said  Willie.  "I  never  shall  steal 
again." 

"•  Just  hear  that,  Mr.  Gregg  !  He  denies  that  he  stole  it, 
and,  to  deceive  us  and  get  clear  of  punishment,  he  says  he 
never  shall  steal  again  !  " 

"  He  is  a  very  hardened  boy,  Mrs.  Gregg,  very  !  If  you 
did  not  steal  the  money,  where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gregg,  "just  tell  us  where  you  got  it, 
if  you  don't  want  us  to  believe  you  stole  it." 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  said  Willie,  firmly. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Mr.  Gregg  ?  0  !  you  rascal,  you  ! 
we'll  see  whether  you  will  tell  us  !  "  And  those  snaky  eyes 
flashed,  and  her  voice  was  raised  to  a  key  which  indicated 
furious  passion. 

' '  We  are  firmly  persuaded  that  you  stole  this  money,  and 
it  is  our  duty  to  chastise  you  for  the  great  offence,"  said  Mr. 
Gregg.  "  Punishment  you  must  have,  or  you  will  be  a  thief 
all  your  life,  unless  you  are  put  where  you  can't  steal.  If 
you  own  from  whom  you  stole  the  money,  it  will  make  the 
correction  less  severe ;  but,  if  you  do  not  confess,  we  shall 
whip  you  till  you  do.  The  al  —  alternatives  are  before  you, 
young  man;  and  all  you  have  to  do  now  is  to  take  your 
choice  between  them." 

"I  did  not  steal  it,"  said  Willie. 

"How  came  you  by  it,  then?"  inquired  Mr.  Gregg. 
"  Answer  me  that !  " 

"  I  did  not  steal  it.     I  never  stole  money  in  all  my  life. 
I  never  wished  to  steal  money.     I  have  only  stolen  victuals 
when  I  was  hungry." 
18*   ' 


210  GLENWOOD. 

"  Dare  you  insinuate,"  said  Mrs.  Gregg,  "  that  you  don't 
have  enough  to  eat?  "  springing  at  him,  and  boxing  his  ears 
and  pulling  his  hair.  "  I  will  teach  you  better  than  that ! 
Just  observe  him,  Mr.  Gregg,  and  see  how  guilty  he  looks ! 
Did  you  ever  see  a  culprit  with  the  guilt  any  more  plainly 
stamped  upon  his  features?" 

"  Never,  Mrs.  Gregg.  You  say  that  you  did  not  steal  it. 
We  do  not  believe  you ;  but,  if  you  speak  the  truth,  your 
innocence  can  be  easily  shown  by  your  confessing  how  and 
where  the  money  was  obtained.  Come,  sir,  where  did  you 
get  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  0  !  I  knew  you  could  not,"  said  Mrs.  Gregg,  "  unless 
you  had  something  to  quicken  that  slow  tongue  of  yours  ;  and 
that  you  shall  have,  and  very  shortly,  too  !  " 

He  was  now  stripped  naked  to  his  waist  and  beaten  with 
a  strap,  and  then  plunged  into  icy-cold  water,  his  head  held 
under  until  he  could  scarcely  catch  his  breath.  It  was  all 
in  vain,  however ;  for  they  failed  to  extort  a  confession  from 
him. 

It  was  a  chilly  night  in  April,  and,  wet  and  bruised  as  he 
was,  they  left  him  without  fire  or  a  bed,  to  spend  the  hours 
of  darkness  alone.  This,  they  informed  him,  was  a  continua- 
tion of  his  punishment ;  and  still  greater  sufferings  awaited 
him  in  the  morning,  if  he  did  not  confess  his  crime. 

The  poor  boy  sat  down  upon  the  cold  floor, —  for  the  room 
was  destitute  of  furniture, —  and  thought  what  a  fearful  thing 
it  was  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  such  people,  whose  tender 
mercies  were  cruelties.  He  felt  sure  that  it  was  right  for 
him  to  escape  from  those  who  so  wronged  him.  He  was 
certain  that  he  ought  not  to  expose  the  kind  friend  who  had 


GLEN  WOOD.  211 

so  generously  given  him  the  money  to  help  him  on  his  way, 
He  had  shed  no  tears  while  receiving  his  punishment,  nor 
resisted  in  the  least ;  but  when  he  thought  of  the  many  cruel 
blows  upon  his  naked  body,  and  of  his  almost  strangling  in 
the  cold  water,  he  wished  that  he  had  turned  upon  his  per- 
secutors, and  he  resolved  to  be  amply  revenged. 

As  he  had  had  no  supper,  he  was  very  hungry,  and  became 
so  chilled  that  his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  whole  frame  shook. 
And  then  he  thought  of  the  morrow,  when  he  must  be  sub- 
jected to  renewed  outrage,  feel  again  the  horrid  strap  upon 
his  naked,  bruised  flesh,  and  be  held  under  water  until 
almost  suffocated.  If  confession  was  not  obtained  by  these 
means,  other  punishments,  more  cruel  still,  had  been  threat- 
ened, and  would  be  resorted  to,  until  he  should  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it ;  and  that  he  had  resolved  he  would  never  do.  He 
felt  that  he  could  die ;  and  he  would,  rather  than  expose  the 
faithful  friend  who  had  done  so  much  for  him. 

"  0  !  how  cold  I  am  !  "  he  said.  "  How  dark  and  gloomy 
it  is  here  !  They  may  find  me  stiff  and  dead  in  the  morning, 
and  then  their  work  will  be  done.  0,  mother  !  mother ! 
mother  !  why  did  you  leave  your  poor  Willie  ?  0  !  come 
to  me  dear,  dear  mother  !  I  —  I  am  freezing  here.  I  am 
lonely  and  heart-broken.  You  are  in  heaven,  I  know ;  but 
are  your  joys  so  great  that  you  cannot  know  how  your  child 
is  wronged  ?  0  !  come  to  me,  mother,  and  comfort  me,  or 
I  shall  die  !  "  His  garments  were  now  partially  frozen,  and 
his  wet  feet  ached  with  the  cold. 

."  This  is  too  much  ! "  he  said.  "  I  would  call  for  help,  but 
it  would  do  no  good.  They  would  not  come,  should  I  bawl 
myself  hoarse.  0  —  h  !  how  cold,  how  terribly  cold  I  am  ! 
It  is  like  winter  to-night —  like  the  night  in  December,  when 


212  GLENWOOD. 

I  was  obliged  to  lie  to  get  out  of  this  cold  room.  But  —  but 
I  cannot,  will  not  now." 

Just  at  this  moment  he  seemed  to  be  strongly  impressed 
that  he  must  escape  then,  or  he  should  die  ;  or,  if  he  did  not 
perish  that  night,  further  cruelties  would  be  continued  until 
he  had  not  strength  to  go.  He  arose  and  tried  the  door  and 
the  windows ,  but  they  were  fastened,  and  in  despair  he  sank 
down  upon  the  floor  again.  His  thoughts  were  now  busy 
with  the  past, —  the  injustice  he  had  received  from  his  fellow- 
creatures,  until  his  loving  teacher  came,  so  good,  so  beautiful. 
How  very  kind  of  her  to  take  so  much  notice  of  the  des- 
pised, neglected  boy,  manifesting  so  much  patience,  and  such 
a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  for  his  welfare  !  Their  last  walk 
from  school  came  up  vividly  before  his  mind  —  the  advice 
she  gave  him,  and  the  money  to  supply  his  wants  while  on 
his  way  to  Yamford,  where  he  had  hoped  to  find  a  home 
such  as  he  had  not  known  since  the  death  of  his  parents. 
What  would  she  do  if  she  could  realize  his  condition  now  — 
his  sufferings,  which  ho  must  endure  through  the  long  night, 
with  the  terrible  dread  of  greater  horrors  on  the  morrow  ? 
0  !  she  would  weep  in  bitter  agony,  did  she  know  all 
this.  And  then  tears  filled  his  eyes,  and  he  lay  down  upon 
the  floor  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  sobbed  and  cried  for 
a  long  time.  When  he  arose,  the  thought  was  again  im- 
pressed upon  his  mind  that  he  must  escape  from  his  prison. 
But  how  ?  The  door  and  windows  are  fastened,  and  he  has 
not  power  to  open  them.  What  can  he  do  there  in  the  dark 
and  cold  ?  He  has  no  implements  to  work  with, —  and  yet  he 
must  escape.  He  will  break  through  one  of  the  windows. 
Would  this  be  right  ?  Why  not,  when  it  is  his  only  hope  ? 

Determined  to  be  free,  he  again  arose,  and,  going  to  on* 


GLENWOOD.  218 

of  the  •windows,  in  his  desperation  he  pushed  out  a  pane  of 
glass  with  his  hand,  cutting  his  fingers  badly.  His  wounds 
gave  him  but  little  anxiety ;  but  he  had  really  committed  an 
offence  now,  and  it  would  not  do  to  stop  there,  but  without 
delay  make  good  his  escape.  He  listened  a  while ;  but,  hear- 
ing nothing,  with  more  care  and  less  noise,  broke  another 
pane  of  glaSs,  then  a  third,  and  thus  he  continued  until  none 
were  left  in  the  lower  frame.  To  remove  that  was  an  easy 
matter,  for  the  house  was  old,  and  the  sash  much  decayed. 

The  required  exertion  in  removing  the  window  gave 
warmth  to  his  shivering  limbs,  and  he  sprang  through  the 
opening,  and  ran  from  the  house  with  great  speed.  The 
noise  which  he  made  when  he  struck  the  ground,  and  the 
clatter  of  his  feet  as  he  fled,  awoke  the  dog,  and  he  gave 
chase  for  the  supposed  intruder.  Willie  was  fearful  that 
his  loud  barking  would  awaken  Mr.  Gregg,  and  lead  to  his 
recapture;  so  he  stopped,  and  the  faithful  sentinel  recog- 
nized him,  and  rubbed  against  him  caressingly,  and  lapped 
the  blood  from  his  hand.  Willie  put  his  arms  around  his 
neck,  and,  patting  him  on  the  head,  hastened  away.  His 
fears  gave  him  strength,  and  he  ran  with  remarkable  rapidity. 
Sometimes  he  fancied  that  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him  ; 
and,  stopping  to  listen,  to  learn  if  he  was  pursued,  his  heart 
beat  so  loudly  that  the  sound  made  him  tremble.  At  such 
times  he  would  lie  flat  upon  his  face,  close  to  the  wall.  Re- 
maining in  that  position  a  few  minutes,  and  finding  that  his 
fears  were  baseless,  he  would  start  on  his  way  again.  And 
thus  he  went  on,  until  the  day  began  to  dawn. 

When  the  sun  rose  he  had  gone  twenty  miles,  and  he  was 
BO  exhausted  that  he  lay  down  to  rest.  And  now  he  realized 
how  desolate  was  his  condition,  far  from  home,  weary,  faint, 


OLEN  WO  OD. 

and  hungry ;  his  head  bare  and  his  clothes  in  tatters ;  for 
those  the  boys  had  given  him  had  been  put  by  for  Sunday 
wear.  He  wondered  what  he  should  do  now ;  whether  Mr. 
Gregg  would  pursue  him  —  what  people  would  think  when 
they  saw  such  a  looking  object  as  he.  It  was  unsafe,  he 
felt,  to  remain  in  the  highway,  now  that  it  was  day ;  and  sc 
he  wandered  into  the  fields.  In  the  course  of  The  forenoon 
he  came  to  a  corn-field,  in  which  was  an  image,  placed  there 
the  year  before,  to  frighten  the  crows.  It  had  upon  its  head 
an  old-fashioned  bell-topped  hat,  very  much  battered,  large 
enough  for  a  man.  Willie  gladly  availed  himself  of  the 
prize,  thinking  it,  poor  as  it  was,  better  than  no  hat.  He 
found  it  much  too  large ;  for  it  came  down  over  his  eyes, 
and  every  few  minutes  he  was  obliged  to  push  it  up  in  order 
toxsee  at  all. 

By  this  time  he  was  almost  famished,  and  so  he  went  into 
the  woods,  and,  as  he  had  often  done  before,  when  suffering 
for  food,  broke  off  some  black-birch  twigs,  and  ate  the  tender 
bark ;  still  further  on.  he  found  checkerberry  and  box-plums, 
and  so  in  a  measure  satisfied  his  desire  for  food.  By  and 
by  he  came  to  another  road,  which  he  thought  best  not  to  fol- 
low, but  crossed  it,  and  still  continued  in  the  fields.  Early 
in  the  morning  it  was  very  cold ;  but  now  the  air  was  bland, 
and  the  sun  poured  down  its  hot  beams,  making  a  beautiful 
spring  day.  The  little  wanderer  became  so  tired  that  he  lay 
down  in  a  sunny  spot,  and  soon  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke 
he  heard  the  horns  calling  the  farmers  to  dinner.  At  first 
it  was  difficult  for  him  to  realize  his  condition  ;  but  he  soon 
regained  his  truant  senses,  and  then  he  felt  that,  although  he 
was  faint  and  weary,  he  must  proceed  on  his  way.  Ere 
long  he  came  to  another  road,  and,  following  it,  he  soon  met 


GLENWOOD.  216 

a  man  with  a  horse  and  carriage,  of  whom  he  inquired  the 
distance  to  Yamford,  and  was  told  that  it  was  forty  miles. 
This  answer  was  astounding,  for  Jeannie  had  assured  him 
that  it  was  only  twenty-five  from  Glenwood.  It  made  him 
feel  almost  discouraged  to  know  that  he  had  gone  fifteen 
miles  out  of  his  way.  The  man  informed  him  the  best  route 
to  take.  No  marvel  that  the  poor  boy  now  sank  down  upon 
the  ground  and  wept ;  for  it  seemed  impossible,  in  his  weary 
and  famishing  condition,  ever  to  reach  the  desired  haven. 
But  weeping  would  do  no  good,  he  well  knew ;  so  he  sum- 
moned his  strength  anew,  and  slowly  went  on. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  the  little  wanderer  was 
overtaken  by  an  unpolished,  kind-looking  man,  who  seemed 
to  watch  him  very  closely.  When  first  in  sight,  Willie 
thought  he  would  ask  him  for  a  ride ;  but,  as  he  came  nearer, 
he  lacked  the  courage  to  make  his  request,  and  he  now  trem- 
bled lest  it  was  some  one  in  pursuit  of  him.  The  man  con- 
tinued to  observe  the  ragged,  comically-dressed  boy,  until 
he  was  satisfied  that  he  was  very  weary,  when  he  stopped 
his  horse  and  said, 

"  Wai,  my  boy,  won't  you  have  a  lift?  I  can  carry  you 
in  my  wagon  jest  as  well  as  not." 

Willie  required  no  urging  to  accept  the  invitation. 

"  Where  are  ye  joggin'  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"To  Yamford,"  replied  Willie. 

"  That 's  a  plaguy  long  ways  for  you  to  go  a  foot,  any  how, 
—  thirty-six  miles,  every  inch  of  it,  if 's  a  rod  !  However,  I 
can  carry  you  sixteen  of  it ;  an'  I  will,  if  yer  mind  to  ride  ; " 
and,  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  he  took  out  a  large 
russet  apple,  and  asked  Willie  if  he  would  n't  like  it.  The 


216  GLENWOOD. 

hungry  boy  almost  snatched  it  from  his  hand,  and  ate  it  with 
great  voracity. 

"  I  declare,"  said  the  man,  "  you  are  awful  hungry,  or 
you  like  apples  some.  I  've  got  two  more  in  my  pocket,  an' 
both  on  'em  is  bigger  than  that  are  one  you've  jest  swal- 
lered,  an'  you  shall  have  'em ;  for  they  are  wholesome  for 
those  who  take  to  'em  in  that  are  way." 

These  were  devoured  so  quickly,  that  the  giver  said  that 
it  did  him  "  a  plaguy  sight "  more  good  than  though  he  had 
eaten  them  himself. 

"  Do  you  live  in  Yamford  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,  sir,  but  I  expect  to." 

"  Goin'  there  to  hire  out,  I  s'pose?  Wai,  I  hope  they 
will  pay  ye,  so  ye  .can  'ford  to  wear  better  clothes  than  them 
are  things  ye  've  got  on." 

"I  hope  so,  too." 

"  How  much  do  you  'spect  to  get  a  month  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,  but  I  suppose  all  I  am  worth." 

"Jest  so,  'xactly.  Wai,  don't  you  let  'em  cheat  you. 
Folks  will  take  the  'vantage  of  boys  when  they  can.  Now, 
I  gin  a  boy  no  bigger  than  you  five  dollars  a  month,  last 
year,  and  I  'm  to  give  six  this  year ;  so  don' t  you  take  a  cent 
less  than  five." 

"  I  shall  try  and  get  all  I  am  worth,  sir." 

"  So  do ;  but,  mind  you,  not  a  cent  less  than  five  a  month. 
Wages  are  high  now,  and  the  Avork  must  be  done.  It 's 
e'enamost  sundown ;  so  you  can't  get  to  Yamford  to-night — 
you  '11  jest  have  to  turn  in  and  stop  with  me,  I  guess.  Come, 
my  lad,  what  say  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to,  but  — but  — " 

"  But  what  — out  with  it !  " 


QLENWOOD.  217 

"  I  have  no  money  to  pay  you,  sir." 

"  Whew  !  who  supposed  you  had  ?  Think  I  'd  take  money 
from  you  ?  —  catch  me  at  it !  If  you  had  any,  I  would  n't 
take  a  cent.  My  old  woman  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  an'  BO 
will  the  gals,  too." 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir  ;"  and  Willie's  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  if  the  boy  an't  cryin'  at  that  are  !  Wai, 
you  an't  the  kind  of  boy  that  one  might  take  you  for  at  fust 
sight,  with  them  are  plaguy  ragged  things  on  —  your  heart 
is  jest  as  tender  as  boiled  lamb.  But  don't  simper  any  more 
about  it;  't  an't  called  for.  Would  n't  you  take  me  in  without 
money,  if  I  was  tired  and  hungry  as  you  are,  and  you  had 
a  good  home,  as  I  have  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  should  be  very  glad  to." 

"  'Xactly  !  I  knew  you  would  ;  and  so  I  shall  do  by  you 
jest  as  you  would  do  by  me, —  don't  you  see,  ha?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  understand  it." 

"  Of  course  you  do.  Now,  that 's  my  'ligion ;  I  han't  never 
'sperienced,  as  'tis  called,  but  I  try  to  do  'bout  right.  It's 
the  best  way  in  this  world ;  help  a  feller-crittur  when  you 
can,  and  the  bread  cast  upon  the  waters  shall  come  back 
when  the  tide  is  right.  Now,  as  it  is  understood  that  you 
stop  with  me  over  night,  I  jest  want  to  know  your  name." 

Willie  reflected  a  few  moments,  querying  whether  he  had 
better  give  an  assumed  name  or  his  own ;  but,  feeling 
instinctively  that  he  could  safely  trust  his  illiterate  friend, 
he  answered : 

"  Willie  Cunard." 

"  Willie  Cunard  !  Why,  I  saw  a  man  from  Glen  wood,  to- 
day, who  was  inquirin'  for  a  boy  of  that  name ;  and  he  said 
19 


218  GLENWOOD. 

that  he  had  stolen  money,  an'  broken  winders  out  of  the 
poor-house,  in  order  to  get  away  !  I  snum  !  if  he  didn't 
describe  you  out  'xactly ;  and  you  are  the  very  boy,  an't 
you?" 

"  I  am,  sir ;  but  I  did  not  steal  the  money.  It  was  given 
me  by  a  friend,  who  advised  me  to  run  away,  because  I  waa 
so  ill-used." 

"  But  how  came  you  to  break  out  the  winder?  " 

"  They  beat  me  so  badly  with  a  strap,  and  then  they  held 
me  in  the  cold  water  until  I  was  almost  suffocated,  because 
I  would  not  tell  them  where  I  got  the  money  which  I  had 
hid  in  my  bed.  And  they  left  me  wet  and  cold  in  one  of 
the  back  rooms,  and  I  had  no  supper  ;  and  they  said  I  should 
stay  there  all  night,  and  be  treated  worse  in  the  morning,  if 
I  did  not  confess.  I  was  so  cold  that  I  should  have  perished 
in  that  room  before  morning." 

"  So  you  would.  An'  they  held  your  head  under  water, 
did  they?" 

"  Yes ;  and  they  beat  me  upon  my  naked  body,  and  I 
am  very  sore  now." 

"  Why,  they  are  worse  than  savage  Injuns, —  a  good  deal 
worse  !  An'  so  you  didn't  have  any  supper?  " 

"  Not  a  mouthful." 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  kickin'  out  the  blasted  old  win- 
der !  You  got  some  breakfast,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Not  any  breakfast !  sakes  alive  !  Wai,  you  must  have 
lined  your  hide  at  dinner-time? " 

"I  haven't  had  any  dinner,  either." 

"Haven't  had  any  dinner  !  I  don't  wonder  you  liked 
apples!  Get  along  there,  Kate,  or  I'll  put  the  string 


GLENWOOD.  219 

on  !  Faster  than  that !  Here 's  a  feller-crittur  starvin' ! 
There,  that 's  it,  you  beauty  !  See  how  she  goes  !  she  knowed 
what  I  telled  her.  You  jest  keep  a  good  heart,  if  you  can, 
an'  we  '11  soon  be  there.  I  'd  been  there  afore,  if  you  'd 
jest  told  me  how  'twas.  Come,  come,  no  snifflin' !  I  can't 
bear  that ;  •  you  would  do  jest  the  same  by  me,  I  know  you 
would.  I  can  tell,  by  the  looks  on  ye,  that  ye  wouldn't  let 
a  crittur  starve,  when  ye  had  a  plenty  of  yer  own. 

"An'  so  you've  lived  in  Glenwood?  I  used  to  have  a 
brother  there  once.  He  was  a  monstrous  clever  feller,  but 
he  took  to  books  an'  larnin' .  Now,  I  never  had  any  taste 
that  are  way.  I  never  read  any  books  in  my  life  but  the 
Bible,  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  my  school-books,  'cept  Rob- 
ert B.  Thomas's  Almanic.  I  read  that  clean  through  every 
year.  But  I  have  lots  o'  readin',  though,  for  I  take  the 
Farmer's  Cabinet,  an'  that  comes  every  week,  you  know. 
I  have  been  an  abscriber  for  that  are  paper  these  twenty 
years,  an'  I've  got  every  one  of  'em  presarved  to  this  day. 
Go  ahead  there,  Kate !  that's  it,  you  beauty  !  See  how  she 
puts  it !  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  how  I  does  when  we  have  a  long 
storm,  an'  I  have  read  the  paper  clean  through :  I  jest  goes 
an'  gets  some  o'  the  old  ones,  and  they  are  about  as  good 
.  as  new.  My  old  woman  never  knows  whether  I  am  readin' 
the  last  paper,  or  one  twenty  years  old ;  it 's  all  the  same  to 
her.  I  have  read  one  of  'em  to  her  as  much  as  six  times, 
an'  she  never  knowed  the  difference.  Now,  that  brother  of 
mine.  Jim  Penly,  he  had  as  much  as  at  hundred  books  ; 
an'  when  he  died  they  was  sold  at  auction,  but  they  didn't' 
fetch  nothin',  scarcely.  He  hadn't  much  gumption,  an' 
the  mortgage  on  his  farm  was  so  much,  that  it  took  'bout  all 


220  QLENWOOD. 

it  fetched  to  pay  it.  He  left  a  widder,  and  one  son,  poor 
enough.  D'  ye  ever  hear  anything  about  'em  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"I  don't  wonder  that  ye  never  did;  for  'the  boy  was 
drownded  afore  you  was  born,  an'  it  e'enamost  killed  his 
mother ;  and  she  went  to  live  with  one  of  her  'lations  ;  but 
the  poor,  heart-broken  woman  soon  followed  Jimmey.  I 
have  hearn  tell  there  was  a  gal  mixed  up  with  the  business 
somehow ;  but,  as  my  old  woman  says,  I  can't  make  neither 
head  nor  tail  to  it.  Get  along  there,  Kate  !  I  declare,  how 
pale  you  do  look  !  —  Cold,  are  you  ?  I  don't  wonder  at  it. 
But  keep  up  your  sperits,  for  we  are  e'enamost  there.  Jest 
see  Kate,  now!  she's  off  like  a  broom-handle.  She's  a 
knowin'  crittur.  There,  my  boy,  there  's  the  house  behind 
that  monstrous  elm-tree, —  biggest  tree  in  the  county.  My 
old  woman 's  standin'  in  the  door,  'spectin'  me.  Steady, 
Kate  !  —  how  she  goes  it !  An'  here  we  are,  safe  an'  sound." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  husband,  who  have  you  got  there  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Penly. 

"A  starvin'  feller-crittur,  old  woman."  And  as  Willie 
was  about  to  step  from  the  wagon,  Mr.  Penly  took  him  in 
his  arms  and  carried  him  into  the  house,  setting  him  down 
near  the  blazing  fire. 

"A  starving,  is  he?"  said  Mrs.  Penly.  "He  looks  as 
though  he  was,  poor  boy  !  What  shall  I  give  him  to  eat  ? 
I  '11  make  him  some  porridge,  with  a  cracker  in  it,  and  that 
will  warm  him;  for  he  is  terrible  cold." 

Mrs.  Penly  was  a  large,  fat  woman,  but  she  stepped 
round  very  quickly,  as  she  always  did  when  a  little  excited  ; 
and,  as  she  had  hot  water,  the  porridge  was  soon  ready. 

"There,  my  poor  boy,"  said  she;   "eat  that  are,  and 


G  L  B  N  W  0  0  D.  221 

you  '11  feel  a  good  deal  better ;  and  when  I  get  supper  ready t 
you  shall  have  a  cup  of  tea ;  but  I  shan't  let  you  eat  too 
much  to-night,  for  you  are  too  sick." 

Willie  took  the  bowl  with  a  grateful  heart,  and,  notwith- 
standing it  was  hot,  he  was  so  hungry  that  he  could  not 
stop  to  eat  slowly. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  how  hungry  you  bo  ! 
But  don't  burn  you  to  death,  for  you  will  find  'nough  to 
eat  here.  Take  time,  if  you  be  hungry.  A  little  slower, 
my  boy ;  —  there,  that  will  do.  Now  I'll  go  straight  and  put 
up  old  Kate,  for  she  's  hungry,  too." 
19* 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE   KINDNESS   OP   THE  PENLYS. — WILLIE   IN   A   NEW   SUIT. GOES    TO 

YAMFORD. HIS   RECEPTION   BY   THE   WYMANS. 

As  the  reader  has  probably  surmised,  Mr.  Penly  was  a 
farmer,  and,  though  ignorant  and  unpolished,  his  heart  was 
in  the  right  place.  He  had  the  reputation  with  many  people 
of  being  wealthy ;  and  when  they  hinted  as  much,  he  re- 
plied that  he  was  not  rich,  but  well  to  do  in  the  world.  He 
lived  in  a  large,  old-fashioned  house,  two  stories  and  a  half 
high,  with  rooms  in  it  sufficient  for  a  country  tavern. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penly  were,  at  this  time,  about  fifty  years 
old,  she  being  six  months  the  eldest.  They  had  known 
and  loved  each  other  from  childhood,  and  were  married  at 
nineteen.  Seven  children  were  born  to  them,  but  only  four 
wrere  now  living, —  all  girls, —  the  two  eldest  married.  The 
most  severe  affliction  they  had  ever  experienced  was  the 
loss  of  their  only  son,  at  the  age  of  ten  years.  Sarah  and 
Hattie,  the  unmarried  daughters,  had  called  upon  one  of 
the  neighbors,  the  afternoon  their  father  came  home,  bring- 
ing with  him  Willie  Cunard.  They  returned  in  season  for 
tea,  and  Willie  was  introduced  to  them.  Very  pretty  blue- 
eyed  girls  they  were.  '  The  youngest,  Hattie,  who  had  a 
roguish  twinkle  to  her  eyes,  was  strongly  inclined  to  laugh 
at  such  a  ragged  boy,  at  the  same  time  feeling  very  sorry 


QLENWOOD.  223 

for  him.  Mrs.  Penly  was  a  kind,  motherly  woman,  sympa- 
thetic and  good-natured,  and,  like  her  husband,  lacking 
refinement.  He  usually  addressed  her  as  his  old  woman, 
and  she  called  him  daddy. 

When  supper  was  ready,  Willie  sat  down  with  the  family ; 
but  he  had  no  longer  a  desire  for  food.  He  was  very  thirsty, 
however,  and  he  occupied  the  time  in  drinking  tea. 

"Wai,  old  woman,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "you  gin  him  that 
are  porridge  jest  in  the  right  time  to  spile  his  supper.  I 
'spected  he  would  eat  us  e'enamost  out  of  house  and  home, 
to  begin  with." 

"It  isn't  best  he  should  eat  much  to-night,  for  he's  got 
cold  and  feverish  like,"  said  Mrs.  Penly.  "  Won't  you 
have  a  piece  of  this  ere  nice  custard-pie  ?  —  it  won't  hurt 
you,  for  I  shortened  the  crust  with  cream." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Willie. 

"You  had  better  take  a  cracker,  then,  and  soak  it  in 
your  tea;  that'll  be  better  than  nothin',  won't  it,  daddy?  " 

"Jest  about,  I  should  think.  Somehow,  crackers  don't 
fill  up.  I  can  eat  a  dozen,  and  then  be  hungry.  Brown 
bread  is  the  stuff,  an't  it,  Hattie  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  don't  like  it,  father! "  said  Hattie. 

"  You  've  been  kept  too  well,  you  young  witch  !  —  that 's 
the  reason.  Jest  live  as  I  did  when  I  was  young,  an' 
you  would  like  it  well  enough.  Now,  this  boy  has  lived  in 
the  poor-house,  an'  I  '11  warrant  you  that  he  likes  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  does  ! "  said  Hattie. 

"  You  don't  believe  it?  —  What  '11  you  bet  on 't  ?  " 

"  My  pullet  against  the  old  black  hen." 

"  'S  done  !     Now,  you  ax  him,  Hattie." 


224  tiLENWOOD. 

"  Do  you  like  rye  and  Indian  bread  ?  "  inquired  Hattie 
of  Willie. 

"Not  very  well,"  said  Willie. 

"  There  !  there  !• "  said  Hattie  ;  "  the  black  hen  is  mine ! " 

"So  tis,  you  jade-hopper !"  said  Mr.  Penly.  "But 
who 'da  thought  that  I'd  lost  it?  Wai,  Willie,  what  is 
the  reason  you  don't  like  brown  bread?  " 

"  Because  I  have_had  to  eat  it  three  times  a  day." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  said  Mrs.  Penly.        *  ^ 

"I  might  have  known  how  'twas,  if  I'd  only  thought, 
when  you  've  lived  at  the  poor-house  !  That 's  the  way 
we  Christian  people  take  care  of  the  poor  !  — treat  'em  e'ena- 
most  as  well  as  they  do  at  the  states-prison.  But,  then,  they 
have  to  be  pretty  careful,  or  too  many  might  like  to  board 
there,  'specially  through  the  cold  weather,"  said  Mr. 
Penly. 

"He  don't  talk  just  as  he  means,"  said  Mrs.  Penly  to 
Willie;  " so  don't  you  mind  him.  He  thinks  that  the  poor 
are  not  used  as  they  ought  to  be,  and  so  do  I." 

When  supper  was  through  with,  Willie  was  placed  in  the 
large  rocking-chair  near  the  fire ;  but  he  was  so  cold  that 
Mrs.  Penly  made  him  a  bowl  of  composition  tea,  and  put 
him  to  bed,  with  a  hot  stone  at  his  feet.  In  the  morning 
he  was  still  feverish,  and  so  Mrs.  Penly  gave  him  a  sweat. 
The  next  day  she  administered  an  emetic  of  lobelia,  and 
now  he  began  to  amend. 

In  the  mean  time  Jeannie  had  returned  home,  and,  having 
her  parents'  permission,  wrote  to  Willie,  the  letter  arriving 
at  Glen  wood  the  morning  that  Willie  left.  When  a  week 
had  passed,  and  he  did  not  come,  she  knew  not  what  to 
think,  and  was  fearful  that  Mr.  Gregg  by  some  means  had 


GLBNWOOD.  225 

obtained  possession  of  the  letter.  She  thought  so  much 
about  it,  that  it  made  her  very  unhappy.  .  She  concluded 
that  it  was  best  to  wait  another  week,  and,  if  he  did  not 
come,  send  her  brother  Frank  to  learn  the  reason. 

When  Willie  was  nearly  well  again,  he  told  his  kind 
friends  that  he  must  go ;  but  Mrs.  Penly  said  that  he  had 
better  stay  a  few  days  longer,  until  he  was  entirely  re- 
covered. 

"  Your  clothes,"  she  remarked,  "  are  awful  ragged,  just 
like  poor-house  clothes.  Any  one  might  know  where  them 
are  come  from.  Now,  my  Benny  was  smaller  than  you 
when  he  died;  but,  if  you  can  wear  his  clothes,  you  shall  be 
welcome  to  them,  for  they  will  do  you  some  good,  and  you 
are  such  a  clever  boy  that  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  look  so 
like  a  fright." 

Mrs.  Penly  went  to  a  trunk,  and  took  out  two  suits,  and 
gave  the  best  one  to  Willie,  the  tears  falling  fast  while  she 
did  it. 

"  He  was  a  good  boy,"  she  said,  "  a  very  good  boy,  and 
we  all  worshipped  him.  God  saw  fit  to  take  him,  and  I 
have  tried  to  be  reconciled;  but  it  was  very  hard.  I've 
been  afeard  that  we  idolized  him  too  much  ;  but  we  could  n't 
help  it.  He  was  our  only  son  !" 

"  When  did  he  die  ?  "  asked  Willie,  feeling  sad  for  her. 

"Ten  years  ago  this  spring;  though  it  don't  seem  so 
long.  I  always  weep  when  I  see  his  clothes,  they  look  so 
much  like  him  ;  — but  you  see  if  you  can  get  them  on." 

Willie  appeared  very  comical  when  rigged  out  in  his 
new  suit,  for  Benny  Penly  was  small  of  his  age,  and  two 
years  younger  when  he  died  than  Willie  was  now.  The 
pants  fitted  close  to  his  skin,  and  were  eight  or  ten  inches 


226  G  L  E  N  W  0  0  D  . 

too  short ;  the  jacket  and  vest  were  as  much  too  short  as 
the  pants,  and  the  sleeves  of  the  jacket  came  just  below 
his  elbows. 

As  the  hat  which  Willie  found  in  the  corn-field  was  so 
large,  and  so  badly  battered,  it  was  thought  best  that  he 
should  throw  it  aside,  and  take  the  one  that  Benny  used  to 
wear  to  meeting, —  a  little,  round,  wool  hat,  with  a  narrow 
rim,  which  he  could  just  squeeze  on  to  the  top  of  his  head. 

How  Hattie  did  laugh  when  she  saw  Willie  in  this  suit ! 
She  made  her  father  quite  merry  by  telling  him  that  hia 
legs  looked  just  like  a  pair  of  candle-moulds. 

When  Willie  was  ready  for  his  journey,  Mrs.  Penly  filled 
his  pockets  with  doughnuts  and  cheese,  and  Mr.  Penly  har- 
nessed his  horse  and  carried  him  ten  miles. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "you  are  now  just  half  way. 
Mind  an'  not  go  wrong!  An'  I  tell  ye  what  'tis,  Willie,  I 
want  ye  to  come  to  see  us  one  of  these  days.  What  say, 
my  lad  ?  We  '11  all  be  glad  to  see  you, — the  old  woman, 
gals,  an'  all." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  come,  sir,  for  you  have  been 
very  kind  to  me ;  —  I  am  thankful,  indeed  I  am  !  " 

"  Wai,  you  needn't  go  for  to  feel  bad  about  it.  But  you 
are  a  good  boy.  Nancy  says  that  she  never  saw  a  better 
boy,  an'  she  understands  human  natur  as  well  as  any  one  I 
ever  seed.  I  'spect  you  've  'bout  fallen  in  love  with  that 
are  school-marm,  'cordin'  to  what  my  old  woman  telled  me 
ye  said  of  her." 

"  0,  no,  sir  !  I " 

"You  needn't  deny  it,  for  that's  jest  the  way  I  did 
when  I  was  in  love  with  Nancy.  You  see  I  've  been  through 


• 

GLEN  n  0  0  D  .  227 

the  mill.  Wai,  wal,  don't  forget  us,  my  lad,  an'  come  an' 
see  us  whenever  ye  can." 

Willie  now  pursued  his  journey  with  good  courage,  hop- 
ing to  reach  Yamford  before  night ;  but  he  missed  his  way, 
and  travelled  some  miles  before  he  learned  his  mistake,  so 
that  it  was  quite  dark  when  he  arrived  there.  Mr.  Wyman 
lived  a  mile  beyond  the  village,  and  it  was  a  little  after 
eight  o'clock  when  he  came  to  the  house. 

But  now  he  thought,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  had  re- 
ceived no  letter  from  Jeannie ;  and  he  was  fearful  that,  if 
she  had  not  returned,  her  parents  would  not  receive  him, 
for  he  was  a  stranger  to  them.  He  had  not  the  courage  to 
knock  at  the  door,  and  he  sat  down  querying  what  he  had 
better  do.  After  sitting  some  time,  he  arose  and  went  to  the 
window,  and  tried  to  look  in.  He  thought  that  it  might  be 
wrong  to  do  thus,  but  he  felt  conscious  that  he  had  no  bad 
intentions,  for  he  only  wished  to  learn  if  Jeannie  was  there. 
When  close  to  the  house,  he  stumbled  and  fell  against  it 
with  such  force  as  to  startle  the  inmates.  But  Willie  was 
more  frightened  than  they,  and  he  ran  as  fast  as  his  feet 
could  carry  him,  so  that  Mr.  Wyman  only  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  as  he  opened  the  door.  After  Willie  had  gone  some 
twenty  rods,  he  looked  back,  and,  not  seeing  any  one  in  pur- 
suit, he  stopped. 

This  was  a  poor  beginning,  and  he  had  less  courage  now 
than  ever;  but  he  slowly  retraced  his  steps. 

"What  was  it?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wyman,  when  Mr.  Wyman 
returned. 

"I  presume  that  it  was  a  boy,  for  I  saw  one  running 
from  the  house  very  fast,"  said  Mr.  Wyman. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  was  doing?" 


228  GLENWOOD. 

"Nothing  serious,  I  think.  Most  likely  he  thought  ho 
would  frighten  us  a  little." 

"How  large  a  boy  was  it,  father?"  asked  Jeannie,  who 
sat  by  the  table,  reading. 

"I  should  think  he  might  be  twelve  or  fourteen  years 
old,"  said  Mr.  Wyman. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  was  Willie  Cunard," 
said  Jeannie. 

"It  might  have  been,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman;  "  and  he 
tfas  most  likely  trying  to  look  into  the  window,  to  see  if 
you  were  here." 

"  That  must  be  it,  mother ;  so  I  will  go  out  and  see  if  I 
can  find  him,"  said  Jeannie. 

She  now  went  to  the  door,  and,  not  seeing  any  one, 
walked  a  few  rods  from  it,  when  she  saw  a  boy  at  a  little 
distance  from  her,  who  appeared  to  be  looking  towards  the 
cottage. 

"Willie  Cunard,"  she  said,   "is  that  you?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  replied. 

"  0  !  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  We  were  expecting 
you  before  this;  "  running  to  him,  and  taking  his  hand  and 
shaking  it  very  warmly.  "  Come,  Willie,  the  folks  are 
anxious  to  see  you ;"  and  she  led  him  into  the  cottage,  and 
presented  him  to  her  parents  and  grandmother. 

"I  am  very  happy  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Wyman. 
'  Jeannie  has  informed  me  that  you  have  lived  at  the  poor- 
house,  and  that  you  have  had  a  very  hard  time.  I  have 
concluded  to  offer  you  a  home  with  us.  My  youngest  son, 
Arthur,  is  going  away,  this  summer,  to  attend  school ;  and, 
if  you  and  I  can  make  a  bargain,  you  shall  stay  and  work 
for  me." 


GLENWOOD.  229 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to,"  said  Willie. 

"  Jeannie,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman,  "you  go  and  make  him  a 
nice  cup  of  tea,  and  get  him  some  supper,  for  he  looks  tired 
and  hungry."  » 

"  Make  him  a  good  cup  of  black  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Motley, 
-  and  then  he  will  feel  a  great  deal  better." 

"  That  's  your  specific,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Wyman,  "and 
you  know  I  always  told  you  that  mother  and  daughter  were 
very  much  alike." 

"And  if  that  specific  was  not  provided  for  you,  when  you 
came  home  weary  and  faint,"  said  Mrs.  Motley,  "a  certain 
face  would  be  too  long  to  be  agreeable." 

"That  's  the  truth,  John,  every  word  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Wyman.  "I  never  saw  anybody,  not  even  an  old  lady, 
enjoy  a  good  cup  of  tea  better  than  you." 

"I  plead  guilty  to  the  charge,  but  I  sometimes  think 
that  cold  water  is  the  best  drink,  after  all,"  said  Mr. 
Wyman. 

"  I  presume  you  read  that  article  in  the  paper,  last  week," 
said  Mrs.  Wyman,  "advocating  the  drinking  of  water 
alone." 

"I  did,  and  I  thought  it  ve,ry  reasonable,"  returned  Mr. 
Wyman. 

"I  have  always  had  my  cup  of  tea,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Motley,  "  and  I  believe  I  always  shall.  I  am  very  sure 
that  it  does  me  good." 

"  And  I  shall  not  give  up  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman. 

"  Nor  I  mine,  as  long  as  I  have  such  good  company  to 
drink  it  with,"  said  Mr.  Wyman. 

"Then  I  hope  you  will  continue  to  drink  it  for  many, 
20 


230  GLENWOOD. 

many  years,"  said  Jeannie,  who  came  in  just  in  time  to  hear 
the  last  remark. 

"I  hope  so,  too,  dear,"  Mr.  Wyman  said,  giving  Mrs. 
Wyman  an  anxious  glance,  which  was  unperceived  by  her. 
At  this  moment  her  cough,  which  had  continued  ever  since 
we  last  saw  her,  was  heard ;  and,  though  but  slight,  it  caused 
Mr.  Wyman  to  cover  up  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  draw  a 
half-suppressed  sigh. 

"  How  far  have  you  come  to-day?  "  said  Mrs.  Wyman  to 
Willie. 

"  Twenty  miles,"  he  replied. 

"Did  you  come  that  distance  on  foot?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Motley. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Willie.  "  I  rode  ten  miles  with  Mr. 
Penly ;  but  I  missed  my  way,  and  so  I  have  walked  nearly 
that  distance." 

"  I  am  glad  that  Mr.  Penly  was  so  kind  and  thoughtful," 
said  Jeannie,  "  but  sorry  that  you  went  out  of  your  way  so 
much.  When  did  you  receive  my  letter, —  and  who  is  Mr. 
Penly?" 

"  Your  letter!     I  did  not  get  any,"  said  Willie. 

"  You  did  not  ?     How  long  since  you  left  Grlenwood?  " 

"  Ten  days  ago  this  evening." 

"  You  did  ?  I  thought  you  were  to  wait  until  you  heard 
from  me." 

"I  could  not,"  said  Willie,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"I  see  how  it  was,"  said  Mr.  Wyman.  "They  abused 
you  so  badly  that  you  could  not  remain  any  longer." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Willie, 

"  Poor  boy !  "  said  Mrs.  Motley ;  "  I  am  glad  you  did  not 
wait." 


£ 

GLENWOOD.  231 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Jeannie,  "  very  glad  ;  but  where  have 
you  been  all  this  time, —  we  were  very  anxious  about  you?" 

"I  have  been  sick,"  he  said,  speaking  very  indistinctly; 
for  the  manifestation  of  so  much  kindness  filled  his  eyes  with 
tears,  and  choked  his  utterance.  "  Can  it  be,"  he  thought, 
"that  there  are  such  good  people  in  the  world?  A  little 
while  since,  and  they  were  all  cruel,  but  now  I  am  over- 
whelmed with  kindness !  " 

"And  so  you  have  been  ill,  poor  child!"  said  Mrs. 
Wyman  ;  "  and  where  were  you  then  ?  " 

"  At  a  Mr.  Penly's.  He  overtook  me  on  the  road,  and 
carried  me  to  his  house,"  said  Willie. 

"  And  they  were  good  to  you,  were  they  not?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Motley. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  very  good,"  said  Willie.  "Mrs.  Penly 
took  the  best  of  care  of  me,  and  would  not  let  me  start  to 
come  here,  until  I  was  quite  well  and  strong.  And  Mr. 
Penly  took  his  horse  and  wagon  and  brought  me  ten 
miles." 

"  Heaven  bless  them  !  "  said  Mrs.  Wyman. 

"Amen ! "  responded  Mr.  Wyman,  Mrs.  Motley,  and 
Jeannie ;  and  Willie  responded  amen  with  his  heart,  which 
was  brimming  with  gratitude. 

"  Penly  —  Penly  !  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  heard  that 
name  before,"  said  Mr.  Wyman. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman  ;  "  but  I 
cannot  remember  when  nor  where." 

"I  presume  that  you  have  quite  ah  interesting  story  to 
tell,"  said  Mrs.  Motley;  "  and,  after  you  have  taken  your 
tea,  we  should  all  like  to  hear  it." 

Supper  now  being  ready,  Willie  gat  down  to  a  well-spread 


232  GLENWOOD. 

table,  with  a  most  inviting  aspect.  At  the  alms-house  the 
dishes  that  the  paupers  used  were  so  unclean  that  you  could 
have  written  your  name  upon  them  with  your  finger,  and 
the  knives  and  forks  were  black  as  the  ace  of  spades.  Those 
before  him  now  were  so  clean  and  polished  that  they  shone 
like  silver,  and  the  same  care  had  been  bestowed  upon  all 
the  other  eating  utensils.  He  was  fearful  lest  he  should 
6oil  them  too  much  in  using  them.  He  had  been  accustomed 
to  make  a  supper  on  coarse  bread  and  cold  water,  but  now 
he  might  partake  of  a  variety  of  the  most  tempting  viands. 
The  change  seemed  marvellous  to  him,  and  too  much  like  a 
dream  to  be  real.  "  Is  it  possible,"  he  thought,  "  that  such 
food  is  prepared  for  me?  " 

Jeannie  took  her  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  poured  the 
tea,  and  helped  him  to  the  different  kinds  of  food.  This  was 
so  different  from  what  he  had  been  accustomed  to,  that  he 
felt  extremely  bashful  and  awkward,  and  he  made  some 
ludicrous  blunders,  causing  him  to  blush  scarlet.  His  friend 
saw,  at  a  glance,  what  the  difficulty  was ;  and  she  pretended 
not  to  notice  his  mistakes,  talking  to  him  in  a  manner  well 
designed  to  make  him  forget  them.  A  delicate,  sensitive 
child  herself,  desiring  to  do  as  she  would  be  done  by,  it  was 
an  easy  matter  to  conduct  herself  in  a  way  that  should  relieve 
him  from  his  excessive  modesty  and  sheepishness,  and  give 
him  some  self-respect.  And  this,  reader,  is  always  com- 
mendable in  man  or  woman. 

The  bashful  girl,  in  the  midst  of  a  gay  throng  of  young 
men  and  maidens,  is  so  confused  that  she  cannot  hold  up  her 
head ;  and  so  she  seeks  the  most  obscure  corner,  and  there 
sits  alone.  Others  are  happy,  but  she  is  wretched.  She 
wishes  that  she  could  walk  about  the  rooms,  and  join  in  the 


GLENWOOD.  233 

conversation,  and  appear  like  other  misses.  Her  wishes  are 
vain,  however,  for  she  has  not  the  confidence  to  arise  from 
her  seat.  The  cords  that  bind  her  she  cannot  break,  nor 
throw  off  the  incubus  which  is  crushing  her  soul.  She  can 
appear  like  other  people  at  home,  and  converse  without  em- 
barrassment, but  not  here ;  it  is  a  marvel  to  her  that  she 
cannot.  Now  she  fancies  that  some  of  the  company  are 
casting  furtive  glances  at  her  —  she  is  the  subject  of  their 
merriment.  To  be  made  a  butt  for  ridicule  is  too  much, 
and  she  wishes  that  she  had  not  come. 

Among  the  visitors  is  a  gentleman  with  a  heart  so  kind 
that  he  desires  to  see  everybody  happy.  He  has  been 
watching  the  bashful  one,  though  she  is  not  aware  of  it. 
He  knows  that  it  is  diffidence  alone  which  causes  her  to 
appear  so  foolish  and  awkward.  The  spell  that  lies  so 
heavily  upon  her,  which  makes  her  so  miserable  when  she 
should  be  happy,  she  has  not  the  power  to  break.  Without 
a  formal  introduction,  he  sits  down  by  her  side,  and  very 
delicately  draws  her  into  conversation,  leading  her  thoughts 
along  so  ingenuously  that  her  timidity  and  bashfulness  are 
forgotten ;  the  chain  that  held  her  so  fast  has  been  melted, 
but  she  knows  not  how ;  the  nightmare  has  departed, 
leaving  her  free  and  happy.  Now  she  mingles  with  the 
company,  is  cheerful,  lively,  and  interesting,  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  evening,  and  she  will  never  be  so  bashful  again. 
The  effect  of  this  kind  act  will  not  be  momentary,  but  lasting 
as  life,  conferring  strength  in  the  hour  of  weakness.  0, 
blessed,  thrice  blessed,  are  they  who  thus  skilfully  and 
lovingly  chase  away  the  shadows  which  have  gathm-d 
around  the  young  soul,  letting  in  the  sunlight  warm  and 
golden  ! 

20* 


234  GLENWOOD. 

Soon  after  Willie  had  finished  his  supper,  Frank  and 
Arthur  returned,  and,  in  accordance  with  a  suggestion  of 
Mrs.  Motley,  seconded  by  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  told 
them  his  affecting  story,  with  which  the  reader  is  sufficiently 
acquainted.  When  he  had  finished,  Jeannie  said, 

' '  I  little  thought  that  my  three-dollar  bill  would  cause 
you  so  much  suffering." 

"  You  were  very  unlucky  in  choosing  your  place  of  con- 
cealment," said  Mr.  Wyman;  "but,  as  the  straw  had  never 
been  meddled  with  before,  except  at  two  particular  periods 
in  the  year,  I  am  not  so  much  surprised  that  you  should 
have  placed  the  bill  where  you  did." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  it  made  you  suffer  so,  but  it  was  all  for 
the  best,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman.  "  Under  other  circumstances 
you  might  not  have  escaped  so  easily,  and  you  would  not 
have  fallen  in  with  the  Penlys,  who  were  so  very  kind  to 
you.  You  will  be  better  and  happier,  all  through  your  life, 
because  you  have  experienced  such  disinterested  friendship. 
Now  that  you  are  here,  I  hope  that  we  shall  be  mutually 
pleased,  and  that  you  will  remain  with  us  many  years.  If 
you  do,  we  will  endeavor  to  make  you  forget  your  past 
trials." 

"  That  we  will,"  said  Mrs.  Motley.  "  Mr.  Wyman  has 
a  nice  farm,  and,  if  you  are  faithful, — and  I  am  sure  you  will 
be, — we  shall  make  you  very  happy,  for  we  never  have  any 
unhappy  ones  under  this  roof." 

"  I  remember  one,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman. 

"  True,"  replied  Mrs.  Motley;  "but  she  was  a  stranger 
and  with  us  but  a  brief  period,  and  the  circumstances  were 
peculiar.  I  never  pitied  any  poor  child  as  I  did  her  —  she 
was  really  heart-broken  !  " 


GLENWOOD.  235 

"Alas,  yes!"  said  Mrs.  Wyman.  "I  was  fearful  how 
it  might  be,  from  the  first.  I  tried  to  heal  the  wound,  but 
in  vain  !  But,  notwithstanding  her  unfortunate  mistake, 
she  was  a  beautiful  creature,  and  I  loved  her  as  though  she" 
had  been  my  own." 

"  She  was  worthy  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Wyman.  "  Well,  she 
is  in  heaven,  and  our  dear  Flora,  who  loved  her  so  well, 
bears  her  company." 

"  Mr.  Gregg  would  not  let  you  wear  the  clothes  the  boys 
gave  you?"  said  Jeannie,  interrogatively. 

"  Only  Sundays,"  replied  Willie.  "  He  said  my  others 
,were  good  enough  to  wear  every  day." 

"  Good  enough — such  dirty  rags  !  "  said  Jeannie ;  "  they 
were  not  good  for  anything.  I  sometimes  think  that  people 
suppose  that  poor-house  children  are  of  a  different  order  of 
being  ;  and  that  rags  are  all  the  clothes  they  deserve ;  the 
meanest  and  coarsest  food,  what  their  natures  require." 

"  Most  likely  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregg  think  so,"  said  Frank; 
"  but  they  are  not  everybody." 

"Very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Motley.  "I  have  lived  a  great 
many  years,  and  seen  many  people ;  and  some  whom  I  have 
known  have  been  very  unfeeling  and  hard-hearted,  while 
others  were  truly  good.  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  have 
found  more  of  the  latter  than  of  the  former,  and  I  believe 
that  every  year  their  number  increases." 

"  That  's  good  doctrine,"  said  Mr.  Wyman.  "  It  is  true 
that  the  world  is  growing  better,  and  not  degenerating,  as 
the  croakers  would  have  us  believe." 

"Everybody  has  faults,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman;  "but  the 
number  in  the  world  is  by  no  means  small  who  desire  to  do 
as  near  right  as  it  is  possible  under  the  circumstances." 


236  GLENWOOD. 

After  the  young  people  had  retired,  Mr.  Wyman  remarked 
that  the  name  of  Gregg  sounded  more  familiar  than  Penly ; 
and  it  had  just  come  into  his  mind  that  Delia's  surname  was 
Gregg. 

"I  thought  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wyman,  "when  Jeannie 
first  spoke  of  Willie  ;  and,  though  it  had  passed  out  of  my 
mind,  it  was  so  many  years  ago,  yet  I  soon  recollected  that 
she  told  me  she  was  from  Glenwood ;  and  I  doubt  not  this 
Mr.  Gregg  was  her  father." 

"I  presume  so,"  said  Mr.  Wyman;  "for  a  man  who 
would  cast  off  his  own  child  in  that  way  would  be  very 
likely  to  abuse  others.  But  I  can't  make  it  out  about  the 
name  Penly." 

"  I  can,"  replied  his  wife.  "  Was  it  not  Jimmey  Penly, 
Delia's  lover,  who  was  drowned,  and  the  father  of  her 
child?" 

"0,1  remember  now  !  Well,  wife,  who  does  this  boy 
look  like?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell  who  he  looks  like,  for  his 
eyes  are  blue,  and  hers  were  very  black ;  and  his  hair  is 
different;  but  I  can  tell  you  who  he  reminds  me  of." 

"Who?  — Delia  Gregg?" 

"Yes." 

"  So  he  does  me  ;  and  I  think  he  looks  like  her." 

"  What  if  it  should  turn  out  that  he  is  her  son  ?  " 

"  Pooh  !  nonsense ;  that  is  not  at  all  probable." 

"I  don't  know  about  that." 

' '  You  are  always  sure  to  imagine  something  strange  and 
unnatural,  where  there  is  the  least  mystery,"  said  Mrs 
Motley. 


GLENWOOD.  287 

t 
"You  say  so,  mother;  but,  then,  you  know  that  I  am 

usually  correct." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Motley,  thought- 
fully. 

"  You  mean  that  she  is  pretty  good  for  guessing,"  said 
Mr.  Wyman. 

"  We  will  inquire  about  his  early  history  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Wyman,  "and  perhaps  that  will  settle 
the  question.  It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  he  should 
prove  to  be  Delia's  child." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Wyman,  "his  own  grand- 
father has  been  his  worst  enemy." 

"As  he  was  to  his  own  child,"  said  Mrs.-  Wyman. 

Willie  slept  that  night  in  the  same  bed  which  was  pressed 
by  his  mother  the  first  night  she  came  to  the  cottage,  and 
where  she  breathed  out  her  troubled  life.  He  was  very 
grateful  for  such  a  luxurious  couch  on  which  to  repose  his 
tired  limbs ;  his  sleep  was  sweet,  and  his  dreams  consoling. 
He  awoke  in  the  morning  refreshed  and  happy. 

Willie's  garments  were  so  small,  and  he  looked  so  queer 
in  them,  that  Mrs.  Wyman  gave  him  a  suit  of  Arthur's ; 
and,  though  the  clothes  were  not  in  so  good  a  condition  as 
those  the  Penlys  gave  him,  he  was  well  pleased  with  the 
change,  for  they  fitted  him.  In  relation  to  his  early  child- 
hood, he  only  remembered  of  living  in  Glenwood,  where 
both  father  and  mother  died.  He  had  been  told  by  them 
that  they  came  there  from  the  West ;  and  that  much  of  his 
history  Jeannie  was  already  acquainted  with. 

After  Willie  had  been  at  Mr.  Wyman's  a  few  days,  he 
engaged  to  remain  until  he  was  fifteen,  for  his  board,  clothes, 
and  four  months'  schooling  each  year.  And  now  he  was 


238  GLENWOOD. 

happy.  Cheerfully  he  labored  through  the  day,  and  in  the 
evening  joined  in  some  pleasant  recreation,  or  in  reading  an 
interesting  book.  Mr.  Wyman  allowed  him  as  many  houra 
for  play  as  was  desirable.  Willie  thought  that  he  had  the 
best  home  in  the  world ;  and  he  strove  to  be  faithful,  and 
all  the  family  loved  him. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  SURPRISE  OF  MR.  GREGG. MRS.  BETSEY  IN  A  PASSION.  —  FRUIT- 
LESS SEARCH  FOR  THE  CULPRIT. — TALK  AND  FEELINGS  OF  THE  PEO- 
PLE.  A  STEEPLE-CHASE  NOT  AFTER  THE  USUAL  STYLE. HECTOR  RUNS 

AWAY. IS   BROUGHT   BACK. MR.    GREGG    NOT   HAPPY.  —  REMORSE. 

HECTOR    IN     SEARCH    OF   A    WIFE. 

THERE  was  great  commotion  and  excitement  at  the  poor- 
house  when  it  was  known  that  Willie  had  broken  out  a  win- 
dow and  made  his  escape.  Mr.  Gregg  expressed  the  utmost 
astonishment  that  a  boy  of  his  age  should  have  the  audacity 
to  do  such  a  thing.  He  was  so  angry  for  a  time,  and  so 
horror-struck,  that  he  forgot  his  usual  dignity ;  and  as  for 
Mrs.  Gregg,  she  was  furious. 

"  0 — h  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  wish  I  had  him  here  now  ! 
Let  me  but  get  hold  of  him  once  more  !  To  think  that  he 
should  dare  to  break  out  a  window  of  this  house,  and  run 
away  ! — the  thief —  the  vagrant  scoundrel !  How  I  would 
shake  him,  if  I  could  only  lay  my  hand  upon  him !  Mr. 
Gregg,  not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost !  Harness  your  horse 
and  pursue  him!  He  cannot  have  gone  far — we '11  have 
him  back  here,  and  settle  with  the  house-breaker !  Get 
Mr.  Blossom,  and  send  him  after  the  states-prison  bird ! 
Offer  a  reward  —  do  anything,  rather  than  he  should  es- 
cape !  " 


240  GLENWOOD. 

Mr.  Gregg  procured  the  services  of  Mr.  Blossom,  and 
sent  him  in  one  direction,  with  a  fast  horse,  and  he  went  in 
another  ;  but  with  what  success  we  have  already  learned. 
They  did  not  find  any  one  who  had  even  seen  him  ;  and  for 
several  days  after  they  watched  the  movements  of  Deacon 
Glubbings,  Mr.  Goose,  and  Mr.  Bugbee,  and  some  others 
whom  they  suspected  of  sufficient  humanity  to  aid  a  poor 
fugitive.  But,  as  they  thought  they  had  stronger  reasons 
for  distrusting  Deacon  Glubbings  and  Mr.  Goose,  they  se- 
creted themselves  near  their  dwellings  for  a  number  of 
nights. 

The  report  that  Willie  Cunard  had  stolen  a  three-dollar 
bill,  and  made  his  escape  from  the  alms-house  by  breaking 
a  window,  was  the  cause  of  various  remarks  and  specula- 
tions by  the  people  of  Glenwood.  There  were  some  who 
doubted  if  Willie  had  actually  stolen  money  ;  and  they  re- 
joiced that  he  had  broken  out  of  his  prison.  Others  were 
ready  enough  to  believe  him  guilty  ;  in  fact,  they  expected 
nothing  else  from  a  ragged,  dirty,  poor-house  boy;  and 
they  had  no  doubt  that,  in  a  brief  time,  he  would  find  a 
prison  which  he  could  not  break  out  of  so  easily;  at  least,  they 
were  charitable  enough  to  hope  that  he  would  meet  with  his 
just  deserts,  for  society  must  be  protected. 

Among  this  latter  class  were  persons  who  were  members 
of  the  different  churches,  and  those  who  did  not  belong  to 
any  church ;  people  who  professed  much,  and  others  who 
were  unbelievers  and  nothing-arians.  That  they  supposed 
Willie  might  reach  a  prison  or  the  gallows,  is  not  strange  ; 
for  the  people  of  Glenwood  had  taught  him  to  distrust  and 
hate  his  fellow-creatures  —  to  believe  them  his  enemies ;  and, 
as  they  made  war  upon  him,  he  should,  for  his  own  preser- 


GLEN  WOOD. 

vation,  nerve  himself  for  the  contest,  and  bravely  fight  it 
out.  They  regarded  not  his  welfare,  and  he  should  not  re- 
gard theirs ;  they  had  made  him  suffer,  Wnd  he  should 
seek  revenge. 

Supposing  this  had  been  the  result  of  Willie's  poor- 
house  experience,  would  those  who  predicted  a  home  for 
him  in  the  states-prison  have  been  entirely  guiltless?  But 
Willie  was  saved, —  thanks  to  the  loving  one  who  taught  him 
that  humanity  was  not  all  evil ;  that  down  deep  in  the  hu- 
man heart  there  is  much  of  goodness,  and,  though  many 
were  ever  ready  to  oppress  the  unprotected,  there  were 
others  always  willing  to  make  some  sacrifice  to  save  and 
bless  the  wronged  and  defenceless. 

From  whom  did  Willie  steal  the  money  ?  That  was  the 
interrogatory  frequently  put,  which  no  one  could  satisfac- 
torily answer.  There  were,  however,  several  persons  who 
were  sure  they  had  lost  money ;  .  and  Mr.  Bumpus 
was  certain  that  at  the  close  of  one  week  there  was  just 
three  dollars  missing.  He  could  not  swear  to  the  identity 
of  the  bill  which  he  had  lost ;  but  Willie  was  often  in  his 
store,  and,  as  ho  was  known  to  be  light-fingered,  it  was  very 
probable  that  he  obtained  it  from  his  drawer.  But  none  of 
the  claimants  gained  the  prize ;  for  Mr.  Gregg  thought, 
and  Mrs.  Gregg  entirely  coincided,  that  as  there  were  a 
number  who  felt  quite  certain  they  had  been  robbed,  he 
was  not  justified  in  giving  the  bill  to  either,  but  should 
keep  it  himself. 

•  On  the  day  that  Willie  escaped,  and  for  some  days  after, 
the  paupers  had  a  very  unpleasant  time,  and  Margaret 
Bumford  felt  the  weight  of  a  certain  feminine  fist,  with 
which  she  was  not  entirely  unacquainted  ;  while  Hector 
21 


242  GLENWOOD. 

Stifles  performed  a  "  steeple-chase  "  with  the  same  fair  one 
for  an  antagonist  who  owned  the  fist ;  and  this  was  the  way 
it  was  brought  about :  Mr.  Gregg  was  absent  in  search  of 
Willie  Cunard,  and  Mr.  Zebulon  Bugbee  took  the  occasion 
to  give  Hector  certain  instructions,  which,  he  supposed,  if 
carried  out,  would  furnish  him  food  for  smiling  for  some 
time.  He  told  him  to  tell  Mrs.  Gregg  that  he  didn't  be- 
lieve that  Willie  stole  the  money ;  that  they  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  themselves  for  shutting  him  into  a  room,  with- 
out bed  or  fire,  when  he  was  wet  and  cold  ;  that  he  was 
glad  that  he  kicked  out  the  window  ;  and  much  more  of  the 
same  sort.  Knowing  tha^Iector  stood  in  great  fear  of  Mrs. 
Gregg,  he  promised  hinji'a  meat-pie  every  day  for  a  week, 
if  he  would  follow^hJSF^wltructions  to  the  letter. 

When  Hector  j-e^fc&i  the  alms-house,  Mrs.  Betsey  S 
Gregg  was  stajg^fng^befoii^.the  glass  in  the  large  kitchen, 
combing  her  lon^hjsrk  hait»>s  As  soon  as  she  saw  Hector, 
she  said: 

,*'£p      £jr     -A.. 

"  Has  that'thi^S  aud  vagrant  been  heard  from  yet,  Hec- 
tor?" v*:^;  ~ 

11  Dunnq,^  ""slud  Hector,  rolling  his  eyes  at  her  rathei 
strangely,  'av^;.foE.  him. 

"Why  did'n't  you  ask,  you  fool?  If  you  knew  any- 
thing at  all,  "I  would  send  you  ^in  search  of  him :  for  you 
can  travel  as  fast  as  a  horse." 

"  I 's  glad  he  's  gone,  I  is." 

"  You  are  glad  he  is  gone  ?  "  —  her  snaky  black  eyes  flash- 
ing furiously  upon  him.  "  What  are  you  glad  of  that  for  ?  " 

"  Cos  you  'bused  him,  yer  did ;  and  put  him  in  the  water, 
and  shet  him  up  to  freeze,  yer  did." 

"If  you  wasn't  a  fool,"  said    she,  "I  would  give  you 


GLENWOOD.  243 

what  you  deserve  ;  but  some  meddler  has  been  filling  your 
head.  But  don't  use  any  more  of  your  insulting  language 
to  me,  or  you  '11  wish  you  had  not !  " 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  that  he  stole  the  money  ;  and  I 's  glad 
that  he  smashed  out  the  old  winder,  I  is." 

This  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Betsey  Gregg,  and  she  caught 
hold  of  a  stout  beech  stick,  kept  for  the  benefit  of  the  seven 
smaller  editions,  and  aimed  a  blow  at  Hector's  head,  which 
he  dodged  and  then  ran,  and  Mrs.  Betsey  after  him.  Out 
into  the  back  room  they  went, —  through  the  back  yard, — 
round  the  house, —  into  the  front  door, —  up  stairs  and  down, 
so  swiftly  that  Mrs.  Gregg's  hair  stuck  out  behind  like  a 
coat-tail  going  against  a  heavy  wind.  Hector's  eyes  were 
rolling  in  the  greatest  frenzy  of  alarm  ;  and  the  long  strides 
which  he  took  through  the  rooms,  and  yards,  and  up  the 
stairs  and  down,  were  laughable  in  the  extreme.  Mrs. 
Betsey's  voice  was  raised  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  her  tongue 
was  giving  utterance  to  terrible  threats,  and  various  naughty 
phrases,  which  our  readers  will  not  care  to  see.  At  last, 
the  young  Slashers  gathered  in  such  numbers  as  to  block  up 
the  outer  doors,  and  then  Hector  bolted  for  the  barn,  followed 
in  full  chase  by  his  adversary.  She  now  thought  she  had 
him,  sure,  for  the  back  door  of  the  barn  was  fastened. 

Hector  perceived  his  mistake  when  he  had  reached  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  then,  as  he  had  seen  the  boys  do, 
he  suddenly  threw  himself  upon  his  hands  and  knees  before 
the  snake-eyed  virago,  and  she  pitched  head  foremost  over 
him,  bumping  her  nose  upon  the  floor,  so  that  the  claret 
flowed  very  copiously;  while  Hector  as  suddenly  picked 
himself  up,  and  ran  for  dear  life.  When  some  twenty  rods 
away,  finding  that  Mrs.  Betsey  did  not  follow  him,  he 


244  GLENWOOD. 

mounted  the  fence,  and,  looking  back  exultingly,  clapped 
bis  hands  upon  his  sides  in  imitation  of  a  cock,  and  crowed 
most  lustily,  and  then  went  to  report  progress  to  Mr .  Zebu- 
Ion  Bugbee.  How  the  latter  individual  did  smile  when 
Hector  described  the  ridiculous  scene  !  He  shook  himself 
and  chuckled  all  over,  from  the  top  of  his  head  to  the  ends 
of  his  great  toes ;  and  when  he  could  not  stand  any  longer, 
he  lay  down  and  rolled  upon  the  floor.  "  I  shall  never 
leave  off  smiling !  "  he  said.  "I'll  die  if  I  can  !  " 

Soon  after  the  melee  commenced  between  Mrs.  Gregg  and 
Hector,  the  paupers  all  assembled  to  witness  it,  stretching 
their  mouths  with  laughter ;  and  when  they  saw  the  result, 
—  Hector  on  the  fence,  crowing,  and  Mrs.  Betsey  holding  on 
to  her  streaming  nose,  which  had  so  swollen  that  it  resem- 
bled that  remarkable  feature  of  the  seven  smaller  editions, — 
they  clapped  their  hands  and  hurraed  at  the  top  of  their 
voices  —  old  men  and  women,  little  children  and  all. 

Mrs.  Gregg  felt  rather  crest-fallen  ;  but  she  went  in  the 
first  place  to  the  sink,  that  she  might  stop  the  generous  flow 
of  claret,  and  wash  the  undue  proportion  of  red  from  her 
f  ice,  and  prevent  the  unlucky  feature  from  further  enlarg- 
ing its  dimensions.  Her  next  step  was  to  set  the  offending 
paupers  at  work  ;  and  she  made  them  march  at  double  quick 
time,  tipping  over  very  unceremoniously  the  smaller  ones 
that  came  in  her  way. 

When  night  came,  Hector  had  not  sufficient  courage  to 
return  to  the  alms-house,  and  so  he  concluded  to  follow 
Willie's  example,  and  run  away.  Having  no  particular 
place  in  view,  he  travelled  till  morning,  without  stopping 
at  all.  For  a  fortnight  he  roamed  about  the  country,  beg- 
ging his  food,  and  sleeping  in  barns.  At  last,  he  was  arrested 


QLENWOOD.  245 

as  a  vagrant;  and,  as  he  informed  those  who  took  him  in  cus- 
tody that  he  came  from  the  alms-house  in  Glenwood,  they 
sent  to  the  selectmen,  and  they  went  after  him.  Hector  was 
not  sorry  to  return,  for  he  had  had  a  hard  time,  often  suffer- 
ing for  food.  The  selectmen  told  Mr.  Gregg  that  he  must  not 
be  punished,  and  so  he  fared  better  than  he  expected.  But 
Mrs.  Gregg  renumbered  the  affray,  and  her  bumped  nose, 
and  took  frequent  occasions  to  annoy  the  poor  idiot. 

When  there  was  no  longer  hope  of  finding  Willie  Cunard, 
things  settled  down  again  at  the  alms-house  into  their  usual 
routine.  Mr.  Gregg  was  again  stiff  and  dignified,  and  Mrs. 
Gregg  content  with  her  ordinary  scolding,  fretting,  and  fault- 
finding. 

And  was  Mr.  Gregg  happy  with  such  a  wife,  and  a  house- 
full  of  noisy  children,  the  reader  is  disposed  to  ask. 

By  no  means.  There  were  times  when  he  was  very 
wretched  ;  —  when  he  longed  for  his  quiet  home  of  old,  with 
Polly  Haggett  to  consult  his  wishes  in  all  things,  growing 
more  and  more  faithful  day  after  day.  He  was  now  well 
aware  that  Mrs.  Gregg,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  was 
evidently  becoming  less  careful  of  his  feelings  and  comforts. 
If  the  children  annoyed  him  with  their  incessant  turmoil, 
she  did  not  seem  to  care,  for  she  was  sure  that  his  nerves 
were  as  strong  as  hers.  Mr.  Gregg  once  said,  and  he 
thought  it  a  great  many  times,  that  he  lived  a  widower  for 
many  years,  and  he  wished  he  had  continued  to  live  so  to  the 
end  of  his  life. 

There  were  seasons  when  he  thought  of  his  first  wife, 

how  gentle  and  submissive  she  was ;  and  he  wondered  if  he 

made  her  as  happy  as  he  should, —  if  he  did  not  require  too 

much, —  if  he  had  not  wounded  when  he  should  have  healed. 

21* 


246  QLENWOOD. 

He  thought  how  careful  she  was  with  her  speech,  in  compari- 
son to  the  present  Mrs.  Gregg.  And  then  he  would  think 
of  Delia, —  the  beautiful  little  child,  the  handsome  young 
woman,  so  much  superior  to  his  other  children, —  his  hopes 
of  her,  and  his  bitter  disappointment.  He  was  fearful  that 
he  had  not  done  quite  right  in  compelling  her  to  leave  his 
home,  friendless,  dependent  upon  the  cold  charities  of  the 
world.  What  could  have  become  of  her  and  her  child  ?  It 
was  very  strange  that  none  of  her  acquaintance  had  ever 
heard  from  her.  She  was  dead,  perhaps ;  the  night  after 
she  left  home,  she  might  have  committed  suicide  by  drown- 
ing. So  much  did  this  idea  haunt  him.  that  he  frequently 
saw  her,  in  his  dreams,  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake, 
among  the  roots  of  the  lilies,  pale,  cold,  and  dead ;  and  her 
spirit  would  rise  up  before  him,  and  point  to  the  lifeless 
body,  and  say,  "  This  is  thy  work."  From  such  dreams 
he  would  awake  with  a  shudder  of  horror,  and  the  cold 
sweat  would  stand  upon  his  forehead.  These  troubles  seemed 
to  grow  upon  him,  and  he  thought  that  he  would  go  many 
miles  if  he  could  see  Delia  once  more  alive  ;  he  would  even 
ask  her  forgiveness,  if  he  could  only  drive  off  these  harrow- 
ing thoughts,  and  end  his  fearful  dreams.  When  his  agony 
was  so  great  that  he  moaned  in  his  sleep,  Mrs.  Gregg  would 
awake  him,  and  tell  him  his  food  must  distress  him,  or  he 
would  not  have  the  nigh'tmai'e  so  often. 

In  the  management  of  the  poor,  Mr.  Gregg  often  queried 
whether  things  were  just  as  they  should  be  ;  and  after  Willie 
had  gone  he  began  to  be  troubled  about  him.  Had  he  been 
clothed  and  fed  as  is  requisite  for  a  human  being  ?  Did  he 
require  the  severe  treatment  he  had  received  ?  Was  it 
judicious  or  beneficial  ?  If  he  should  fall  into  crime,  would 


OLBNWOOD.  247 

not  himself  and  wife  be  in  a  measure  guilty  ?  If  the  paupers 
are  not  justly  dealt  with,  why  is  it  ?  Am  I  not  master  here  ? 
Should  not  woman  be  subordinate  to  man  ?  Certainly,  I, 
Joseph  Gregg,  Esq.,  am  master  in  my  own  family;  and  why, 
then,  are  not  all  things  as  I  choose  to  have  them  ?  He  could 
scarcely^  tell ;  for,  though  nearly  everything  displeased  him, 
yet  they  had  his  sanction  ;  for  Mrs.  Gregg  worked  her  card 
sg  ingeniously,  that  he  finally  agreed  to  all  that  she  pro- 
posed, half  believing  that  he  originated  the  plans,  when  they 
were  in  reality  all  her  own.  But  when  he  came  to  reflect 
upon  them  more  seriously,  he  disliked  them  very  much.  It 
was  useless  to  remonstrate,  however ;  for  she  quietly  told  him 
that  he  had  given  them  his  sanction,  and  that  he  could  not 
deny. 

As  often  as  Mrs.  Gunimede  was  out  of  tea,  she  sent  to 
Mr.  Bugbee,  and  he  immediately  purchased  more ;  and  so 
the  poor  old  creature  felt  quite  content.  On  her  dying  bed, 
she  fancied  herself  in  her  former  happy  home,  and  many 
times  did  she  express  her  thanks  that  God  had  given  such  a 
blessing  as  tea  for  the  aged  and  weak.  The  last  thing  which 
she  did  was  to  call  for  a  cup  of  black  tea,  which  she  drank 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  Poor  old  lady  !  how  grateful  she 
had  been  to  the  unpolished,  smiling  Bugbee,  for  the  harmless 
beverage  which  was  such  a  solace  to  her  !  Of  all  the  men  in 
the  world  he  was  the  best,  for  she  said  that  he  furnished  her 
the  elixir  of  life  when  there  was  none  to  pity.  The  real 
comfort  which  she  took  in  drinking  her  tea  was  a  source  of 
happiness  to  him,  and  he  called  frequently  to  see  her.  He 
furnished  her  a  block-tin  pot,  that  she  might  make  tea  aa 
often  as  she  chose  ;  and  sometimes  he  took  a  cup  with  her. 
When  she  died  he  was  her  most  sincere  mourner. 


248  GLENWOOD. 

The  young  men  and  boys  still  continued  to  play  off  theVi 
jokes  upon  Hector  Stifles  ;  but,  as  he  had  not  sense  enough 
to  know  when  he  was  imposed  upon,  he  enjoyed  the  sport  aa 
well  as  they.  Take  him  all  in  all,  he  was  a  very  strange 
being,  and  he  seemed  to  have  a  stomach  as  capacious  as  an 
ox.  His  greatest  enjoyment  in  life  was  in  eating ;  and  he  con- 
sumed enormous  quantities  of  food,  and  drank  accordingly. 
If  I  should  state  the  number  of  quarts  of  water  which  ke 
frequently  drank  at  a  time,  to  please  the  boys,  and  others 
who  doubted  the  possibility  of  the  thing,  only  those  who  have 
witnessed  his  feats  in  that  line  would  give  me  the  credit  of 
telling  the  simple  truth.  He  had  great  strength,  and  Mr. 
Bugbee  procured  his  services  of  the  town  to  turn  a  wheel 
which  carried  a  labor-saving  machine.  The  boys  so  often 
detained  him  on  his  way  to  the  shop,  that  his  employer 
laughingly  told  him  that  he  would  give  him  a  loaf  of  baker's 
bread  every  day  that  he  came  tp  his  work  at  half-past  eight 
in  the  forenoon.  This  made  him  punctual,  and  in  the  even- 
ing Hector  strode  through  the  village  with  the  loaf  of  bread 
under  his  arm,  now  and  then  dropping  into  a  singing-school, 
or  other  public  meeting,  on  his  way  home. 

His  gait  was  peculiar ;  for,  although  he  was  short  and 
thick,  his  steps  were  twice  as  long  as  men  usually  take,  and 
he  went  with  a  sort  of  a  swing,  seeming  to  move  one  half  of  his 
entire  body  every  step  he  took. 

He  had  a  great  desire  to  marry ;  was  quickly  interested  in 
any  woman,  old  or  young,  if  he  was  told  that  she  was  in  love 
with  him ;  and  he  would  hang  round  the  house  where  she 
lived,  dog  her  steps,  but  always  keep  at  a  respectful 
distance. 

At  one  time  he  was  made  to  believe  that  there  was  a  rich 


GLEN  WOOD..  249 

young  lady  in  Sklintonbog,  by  the  name  of  Arden,  who  was 
dying  of  love  for  him  ;  that  she  saw  him  frequently  while  he 
was  at  the  poor-house  there,  and  since  the  first  time  her  eyes 
fell  upon  him  she  had  not  known  a  moment's  peace.  The 
story  was  told  to  Hector  in  a  strain  so  pathetic  that  he  shed 
tears  that  she  should  have  suffered  so  much  for  him  —  so 
long  have  felt  the  pangs  of  unrequited  love ;  and  he  resolved, 
as  soon  as  Mr.  Bugbee  could  spare  him,  to  go  in  search 
of  the  love-stricken  maiden,  and  offer  her  his  hand  in  mar- 
riage. This,  he  was  assured,  was  a  solemn  duty,  for  the 
enamored  one  might  die  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  village  of  Sklintonbog  is  six  miles  from  Glenwood, 
and  the  authors  of  the  tale  were  not  aware  of  the  fact  that 
a  family  lived  there  by  the  name  of  Arden.  Hector  walked 
the  whole  distance  in  one  hour.  The  village  was  quite  large, 
and,  as  he  was  unacquainted  with  the  lady's  residence,  he 
commenced  on  the  outskirts,  and  inquired  at  every  house  he 
came  to.  When  he  had  called  at  three  quarters  of  all  the 
dwellings,  asking,  at  each,  "  Does  Misser  Arden  live  here  ?  " 
(for  he  was  informed  that  she  resided  with  her  father,  and 
that  her  mother  was  dead)  at  length  he  knocked  at  the  door 
of  a  large,  elegant  house,  the  finest  establishment  in  the 
village.  His  summons  was  answered  by  one  of  the  domes- 
tics. For  the  first  time  Hector  varied  his  question  a  little, 
and  said, 

"  Is  this  Misser  Arden's  house  ?  " 

"It  is,"  replied  the  domestic.  "  Would  you  like  to  see 
him?" 

"  Yeth,  mum,  I  would." 

"  Well,  sir,  walk  in.  He  is  in  his  study,  and  I  will  show 
you  up." 


250  GLENWOOD. 

Hector  followed  his  conductor  up  a  flight  of  stairs  covered 
with  splendid  tapestry,  and  was  ushered  into  an  elegant  study, 
where  sat  a  fine-looking,  middle-aged  gentleman,  writing. 

"Be  seated,  if  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Arden. 

"Yeth,  sir,  I  will;"  and  he  awkwardly  dropped  into  an 
elegant  damask-bottomed  chair,  which  was  so  elastic  that 
he  imagined  he  was  going  to  the  floor,  and  he  sprang  up 
about  two  feet,  looking  very  much  frightened,  rolling  his 
eyes  in  the  most  strange  and  comical  manner.  Having 
examineM  the  chair  with  his  hands,  until  he  was  satisfied  that 
it  was  sufficient  to  hold  him,  he  sat  down. 

Mr.  Arden  was  greatly  amused ;  and.  as  Hector  did 
nothing  but  stare  at  him,  he  asked  him  the  nature  of  his 
business. 

"  Is  your  name  Misser  Arden?"  inquired  Hector. 

"My  name  is  Arden,"  he  replied. 

"  Is  you  got  a  darter  ?  " 
-"I  have ;  and  what  of  her?" 

"  They  telled  me  ye  had  ;  —  are  she  married  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  married ;  — anything  more  ?  " 

"  Wai,  the  fellers  over  in  Glen  wood  said  I  could  come 
in  here, —  that  she  was  e'enamost  dyin'  for  me,- -an'  so  I 
come  over  to  marry  her." 

Mr.  Arden  arose  from  his  seat,  very  much  excited,  for  he 
was  naturally  passionate. 

"  Do  you  see  the  door,  sir  ?  "  he  said.  "  Leave  this  house 
—  quickly,  too  —  and  don't  you  ever  come  within  gun-shot 
of  it  again.  If  you  do,  I  will  give  you  a  flogging  you  will 
never  forget!  " 

Hector  fled  as  though  frightened  out  of  what  sense  he 
had,  and  he  ran  more  than  half  of  the  way  home.  You 


GLENWOOD.  251 

should  have  seen  Mr.  Bugbee  smile  when  told  of  the  result 
of  Hector's  visit ! 

"And  so  the  old  fellow  was  mad,  was  he?"  said  Mr. 
Bugbee.  "  Too  bad  —  decidedly  too  bad  !  "  and  he  chuckled 
and  shook  himself,  as  was  his  usual  custom. 

Those  who  sent  Hector  in  search  of  his  lady-love  consoled 
him  for  his  disappointment  by  assuring  him  that  it  was  all 
the  fault  of  her  father ;  that  such  things  were  not  uncom- 
mon; that  cruel  parents  were  continually  breaking  their 
daughters'  hearts,  and  they  doubted  not  Miss  Arden  would 
die  for  him. 

In  a  few  days  after,  they  pretended  to  have  heard  from 
her,  and  she  was  sinking  fast ;  by  and  by  they  informed  him 
that  she  was  dead,  and  they  put  a  weed  upon  his  hat,  which 
he  wore  for  a  number  of  weeks.  When  his  mourning  days 
were  ended, —  and  they  did  not  last  as  long  as  he  wore  the 
weed,  which  is  not  unfrequently  the  case  with  wiser  persons 
than  Hector, —  there  was  another  selected,  and  for  whom, 
he  said,  his  love  was  stronger  than  it  had  ever  been  before ; 
but  his  experiments  in  the  matrimonial  line  were  as  fruitless 
as  those  of  very  many  other  people,  who  seem  to  be  seeking 
a  helpmate  all  their  days  ;  but,  alas!  they  never  find. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

ILL-FORTUNE   OF    THE  PEJfDWICKS   AND   BUMFORDS.  —  A   FARCE,  IN   WHICH 
A    DEACON    PLAYS    THE   PRINCIPAL    CHARACTER. 

SOON  after  the  death  of  Johnny  Pendwick,  his  brother 
began  to  be  very  unfortunate.  His  cattle  died,  and  his 
children,  one  after  another,  were  laid  in  the  grave.  The  love 
of  money  influenced  him  more  than  anything  else  to  take 
such  a  heartless  course  in  relation  to  Johnny;  yet  he  lived 
to  see  his  wife  and  all  his  children  dead ;  and  then,  old  and 
hopeless,  he  felt  that  he  had  nothing  to  live  for.  But  he 
lingered  on  for  many  years ;  and  when  he  died  his  property 
was  inherited  by  his  grandchildren. 

The  fate  of  the  Bumford  family  was  equally  calamitous. 
The  parents  died  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  the  children  spent 
the  property. 

I  am  not  so  superstitious  as  to  believe  that  these  misfor- 
tunes were  judgments  sent  upon  the  Pendwicks  and  Bum- 
fords  because  of  their  sins  and  selfishness, —  because  they 
refused  to  support  their  poor  relatives  ;  but  I  have  mentioned 
them  for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  culpable  and  foolish 
they  were,  when  they  had  an  abundance  of  worldly  goods, 
and  could  have  saved  them  the  mortification  of  being  main- 
tained by  the  town.  And,  as  is  always  the  case,  the  Con- 
sciousness of  having  performed  their  duty  would  have 


GLENWOOD.  253 

brought  them  peace,  while  the  terrible  neglect  of  it  caused 
them,  and  justly  too,  much  unhappiness.  Mr.  Bumford  in 
his  last  moments  felt  the  pangs  of  remorse,  but  too  late  to 
accomplish  any  good ;  and  Margaret  remained  a  pauper, 
and  will  to  her  dying  day. 

There  was  an  understanding  between  Mr.  Pendwick  and 
his  parents,  when  the  homestead  was  made  over  to  him,  that 
Johnny  was  to  be  respectably  maintained  as  long  as  he 
lived,  unless  he  chose  to  seek  a  home  elsewhere.  Mr.  Pend- 
wick could  not  keep  this  out  of  his  mind  in  his  last  sorrow- 
ful, lonely  years ;  and,  unbeliever  as  he  was,  he  sometimes 
fancied  that  his  great  misfortunes  had  been  sent  upon  him 
for  the  fearful  wrong  he  committed  when  he  forced  his 
brother  from  his  rightful  home. 

There  were  not  many  happier  families  than  those  of  Dea- 
con Glubbings  and  Mr.  Goose.  They  were  farmers,  and 
lived  a  mile  from  the  village,  their  houses  but  a  few  rods 
apart.  Deacon  Glubbings  and  wife  were  now  some  more 
than  fifty  years  old  ;  and  Mr.  Goose  a  few  years  younger, 
while  his  good-hearted,  fun-loving  helpmeet  was  five  years 
younger  than  he.  Deacon  Glubbings'  hair  had  been  white 
ever  since  he  was  a  young  man  of  twenty  ;  and,  as  his  wife 
was  a  little  vain,  to  please  her  he  wore  a  wig,  which  fact 
Mr.  Goose  and  wife  were  unaware  of,  as  they  had  formerly 
lived. in  a  different  neighborhood. 

One  very  warm  evening  in  June,  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting,  the  deacon  was  reclining  in  his  large  arm-chair, 
holding  his  wig  in  his  hand,  when  Mrs.  Goose  came  in  un- 
expectedly, for  it  was  so  warm  the  doors  were  open.  Sarah 
Glubbings.  the  deacon's  eldest  daughter,  immediately  intro- 
duced her  father  by  the  name  of  Thompson.  He  arose,  and. 
22 


254  GLENWOOD. 

dropping  his  wig  behind  his  chair,  inquired  for  her  health, 
shook  her  by  the  hand,  and  then  resumed  his  former  position, 
querying  in  his  mind  whether  Mrs.  Goose  knew  him.  She 
appeared  as  though  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger.  For  the 
purpose  of  bringing  her  to  a  test,  after  they  had  conversed 
a  while,  he  took  a  seat  by  her  side,  remarking  that  he  be- 
lieved they  were  formerly  acquainted.  She  answered  that  it 
must  have  been  a  long  time  ago. 
"  Not  very  long,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  she  returned;  "I  can't  recall  your 
looks  nor  your  name.     I  think  you  must  be  mistaken." 
"  No,  I  am  not  mistaken  ;  I  am  very  sure  of  that." 
"  Then  you  must  have  changed  very  much  !  " 
" I  doubt  not  that  I  have  changed  some,  but  not  much; 
and  you  have  changed  very  little." 
"  It  is  strange,  very  strange  !  " 
"Mrs.  Goose,  don't  you  know  Brother  Glubbings?" 
"  I  declare  !  if  it  isn't  you,  deacon  !     What  in  the  world 
makes  you  look  so  different  ?    0  !  I  know  now  ;  you  have  n't 
got  your  spectacles  on." 

"  Was  you  not  aware  that  I  wore  a  wig  ?  " 
"Why,  no,  deacon  !  What  a  white  head!  How  queer 
you  do  look !  Who  would  have  thought  it  ?  You  bear 
but  little  resemblance  to  Deacon  Glubbings,  but  you  look 
just  like  Doctor  Frances,  who  went  to  Illinois  about  ten 
years  since  ;  and  he  said  he  should  return  in  ten  or  twelve 
years,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  come  and  make  us  a  visit. 
Now,  you  shall  go  over  and  be  introduced  to  Mr.  Goose  as 
the  doctor ;  for  he  won't  know  the  counterfeit  from  the  genu- 
ine, and  we'll  have  some  fun  at  husband's  expense." 

They  sat  and  chatted  until  it  was  quite  dark,  when  the 


GLENWOOD.  255 

deacon  walked  home  with  Mrs.  Goose,  and  she  informed 
him  how  the  doctor  usually  appeared,  and  imitated,  as 
nearly  as  she  could,  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

"We  hadn't  any  children,  then,"  she  said;  "and  the 
doctor  remarked  that  he  had  no  doubt  he  should  find 
some  little  goslings  running  about  by  the  time  he  should 
return  ;  and  now,  you  know,  we  have  four." 

"I  don't  think  it  best  to  go  in  to-night,"  said  the  dea- 
con; "but  I  will  come  over  to-morrow  night." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Goose;  "I  will  be  ready  for 
you." 

The  deacon  had  worn  for  his  Sunday  castor  one  of  the 
old-fashioned  bell- tops ;  but  he  had  just  purchased  a  hat  of 
the  more  modern  style.  And  he  had  also  replenished  his 
wardrobe  by  a  new  suit,  which  Mr.  Goose  was  not  aware  of. 
The  next  evening,  having  donned  his  new  garments,  that 
he  might  look  as  well  as  a  doctor  need  to,  he  proceeded  to 
make  the  promised  call.  Crossing  the  fields,  he  continued 
on  some  distance  beyond  the  house,  and  then  took  the  road 
and  came  back,  and  went  into  the  front  yard  (which  people 
seldom  did,  unless  they  were  strangers),  and  rapped  at  the 
door. 

Mrs.  Goose  was  waiting  for  him,  and  answered  the  sum- 
mons. 

"  Why,  Doctor  Frances  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  how  do  you 
do  ?  "  shaking  his  hand  with  great  vehemence. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Goose  heard  the  name  Dr.  Frances,  he 
came,  in  great  haste,  and  caught  the  deacon  by  the  hand, 
and  said : 

"  Doctor  Frances !  can  it  be  possible  that  this  is  you? 
Well,  what  a  stranger  you  are  !  and  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you !  " 


GLEN  WO  OD. 

"  And  I  am  equally  happy  to  see  you  both,  after  being 
absent  so  long,"  said  the  deacon. 

"  Walk  in,  doctor;  walk  in,"  said  Mr.  Goose.  "I  will 
take  your  hat,  if  you  please.  Sit  in  the  rocking-chair, 
doctor.  You  are  the  greatest  stranger  I  have  seen  this 
many  a  day.  How  is  your  health,  now?  " 

"Very  good,  I  thank  you;  how  is  yours?"  said  the 
deacon. 

"Pretty  much  after  the  old  sort,"  said  Mr.  Goose. 
"  There  is  no  business  so  healthy  as  farming,  I  think.  I 
work  hard,  rather  too  hard  for  comfort;  but  I  scarcely  know 
by  experience  what  sickness  is." 

"Farming  is  healthy  work,"  said  the  deacon;  "and, 
though  a  man  don't  get  rich  fast,  he  obtains  a  good  living, 
and  he  is  as  independent  as  a  king.  Is  your  health  good, 
Mrs.  Goose?" 

"  Y-e-s,"  she  said,  restraining  herself  from  laughing  with 
much  difficulty. 

"  When  did  you  leave  Illinois  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Goose. 

"  Well,  really,  I  cannot  tell,"  said  the  deacon;  "but  I 
have  not  been  there  of  late." 

"  You  have  been  roaming  all  over  the  country,  I  don't 
doubt;  it  is  just  like  you,"  said  Mr.  Goose. 

"  I  was  always  fond  of  travelling,  as  you  are  aware," 
replied  the  deacon. 

"Yes,  yes !"  returned  Mr.  Goose;  "never  satisfied  to 
remain  in  one  place  long  at  a  time,  since  I  have  known  you. 
How  was  you  pleased  with  Illinois?" 

•  With  what  I  saw  of  it,  I  was  well  pleased.  It  is  a  very 
fine  country." 

"  I  have  always  thought  so ;  and  I  have  told  Mrs.  Goose, 


QLBNWOOD.  257 

time  and  again,  that,  if  ever  we  go  West,   Illinois  is  the 
place,  right  on  the  prairie, — haven't  I,  Hannah?  " 

"  Y-e-s,"  she  replied. 

"People  who  settle  there  from  New  England,"  said  the 
deacon,  "  will  have  to  do  without  many  of  the  conveniences 
and  luxuries  which  they  have  been  accustomed  to,  at  least 
for  a  time  ;  but,  by  prudence  and  industry,  all  the  obstacles 
are  soon  overcome,  and  wealth  flows  in  as  rapidly  as  one 
could  wish." 

"  What  is  your  opinion  of  the  quality  of  the  soil?  Will 
it  produce  large  crops  with  little  labor?" 

"  The  soil  is  excellent,  especially  that  of  the  rolling 
prairie.  No  dressing  is  required,  and  but  little  labor,  com- 
paratively speaking.  The  crops  that  are  obtained  are  actu- 
ally astonishing." 

"Is  it  a  healthy  country? " 

"  As  much  so  as  New  England,  after  they  become  accli- 
mated. When  people  first  settle  there,  they  are  pretty  sure 
to  have  the  fever  and  ague,  and  then  they  shake  a  great  deal 
more  than  they  care  about;  but,  by  pursuing  the  right  course, 
they  soon  get  well." 

"I  presume  they  are  tuking  up  the  land  quite  fast?" 

"  Yes,  they  are  flocking  in  from  all  parts  of  the  country ; 
from  the  south,  New  England,  and  the  Middle  States." 

"  Grain  grows  much  more  rank  there,  I  suppose,  than 
here?  " 

' '  Bless  you,  yes.  The  corn  would  astonish  you.  .  And 
such  immense  fields  of  it !  Ten  or  fifteen  acres  in  one  lot 
are  not  uncommon.  When  you  pass  through  them,  flocks 
of  large  birds  fly  up,  darkening  the  heavens  like  a  cloud." 

"You  surprise  me  doctor.     I  wish  I  could  visit  Illinois 
22* 


258  GLENWOOD. 

such  fields  of  corn  must  be  worth  seeing,  and  such  immense 
flocks  of  birds.  Are  those  birds  good  for  food  ?  " 

'.'  Some  of  them  are  excellent." 

"Just  the  place  for  rare  sport  in  the  way  of  shooting  — 
I  should  like  that.  Have  any  foreigners  settled  in  Illi- 
nois?" 

"Yes,  quite  a  number." 

"  Some  Irishmen,  I  presume." 

"  A  small  proportion  of  the  inhabitants  is  Irish." 

"I  don't  like  the  Irish  at  all.  I  believe  the  Catholics 
mean  to  flock  over  here,  from  Ireland  and  other  countries, 
and  destroy  our  religion,  and  undermine  our  liberties." 

"  That  may  be  the  intention  of  some,  but  not  of  them  all, 
by  any  means." 

"  I  wish  they  would  stay  in  their  own  country." 

"  We  must  not  be  too  selfish.  The  Irish  are  so  oppressed, 
in  their  own  well-loved  land,  that  their  only  hope  is  emigra- 
tion ;  and  it  seems  to  me  inhuman  and  unchristian,  when  we 
have  so  much  land  lying  waste,  that  we  should  be  unwilling 
for  them  to  occupy  it." 

"  That  's  my  opinion,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Goose. 

"But  they  are  so  filthy,"  said  Mr.  Goose,  "that  one 
cannot  bear  to  have  them  round." 

"Their  habits  are  very  uncleanly,  no  doubt,"  said  the 
deacon;  "but  they  improve  them  very  much  after  they 
come  to  this  country.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Goose,  they  are 
here,  and  there  is  no  getting  rid  of  them ;  and  the  better  we 
treat  them,  the  better  citizens  will  they  become." 

"I  presume  you  are  correct,  doctor,  for  you  have  seen 
more  of  them  than  I  have.  How  are  the  morals  of  the 
people  in  Illinois  ?  " 


GLENWOOD.  259 

"  About  the  same  as  they  are  here ;  — not  quite  so  good, 
perhaps ;  they  seldom  are  in  a  new  country." 

At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Glubbings  and  Sarah  came  in,  for 
they  wished  to  see  the  sport. 

Mr.  Goose  arose  and  said,  "Mrs.  Glubbings,  this  is  Dr. 
Frances;  Dr.  Frances,  Mrs.  Glubbings,  Sarah  Glubbings." 
The  deacon,  Mrs.  Glubbings,  and  Sarab,  shook  hands,  and 
inquired  for  each  other's  health.  When  they  were  seated, 
Mr.  Goose  said : 

' '  Dr.  Frances  is  an  old  friend  of  ours  ;  and  we  have  not 
seen  him  before  for  some  ten  years.  He  has  been  off  to  Illi- 
nois, and  all  over  the  country,  the  Lord  knows  where.  He 
has  a  genius  for  roaming.  Where  is  your  husband  this 
evening?  Mrs.  Glubbings,  doctor,  is  the  wife  of  a  near 
neighbor  of  ours,  Deacon  Glubbings ;  and  Sarah  is  the 
eldest  daughter.  I  should  like  to  introduce  you  to  him,  for 
he  is, —  begging  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Glubbings, —  very  intel- 
ligent and  interesting,  and  as  good  a  neighbor  as  ever  a 
man  need  have." 

"  I  doubt  not  that  I  should  be  pleased  with  him,"  said  the 
deacon. 

"I  think  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Goose,  in  a  half- 
smothered  voice,  for  she  had  her  handkerchief  crammed  into 
her  mouth,  to  keep  her  from  breaking  out  into  a  laugh. 
Mrs.  Glubbings  and  Sarah  were  as  well  pleased,  but  they 
had  a  better  command  over  their  risible  faculties. 

"He  may  drop  in  before  nine  o'clock,  as  Mrs.  Glubbings 
and  Sarah  are  here.  We  are  such  good  friends  that  we  go 
back  and  forwards,  just  as  it  happens,"  said  Mr.  Goose. 

"That  makes  it  very  pleasant,"  said  the  deacon.  "I 
like  to  live  in  that  way  very  much.  But,  Mr.  Goose,"  and 


260  GLENWOOD. 

the  deacon  looked  around  the  room,  with  a  half-comical  ex- 
pression, "  where  are  those  little  goslings  ?  " 

"  0,  doctor !  "  said-  Mr.  Goose,  slapping  him  on  the 
knee,  and  laughing  heartily,  f:  you  have  n't  forgot  the  gos- 
lings, have  you  ?  Well,  me  and  my  old  Goose,  there,  have 
got  quite  a  brood ;  but  you  can't  see  them  to-night  very 
well,  for  they  are  all  in  their  nest  asleep." 

"  How  many  have  you? "  inquired  the  deacon. 

"  Four ;  and  they  are  as  pretty,  little,  green  fellows  as  you 
ever  saw,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Goose. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  and  I  am  happy  to  learn  that  you  are 
so  fortunate,"  said  the  deacon. 

The  conversation  now  took  a  more  general  character, 
which  all  united  in,  though  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  for 
Mrs.  Goose  to  keep  from  laughing ;  she  sat  all  the  time  with 
her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth. 

When  the  clock  struck  nine,  the  deacon  arose,  and  said 
that  he  must  be  going. 

"Going!"  said  Mr.  Goose;  "I  guess  you  will  go  to- 
night !  " 

"It  is  very  essential  that  I  should,"  said  the  deacon. 

"Come,  come,  now,  sit  down,  and  don't  say  another 
word  about  it !  Only  think,  we  have  not  seen  each  other  for 
ten  years,  and  now  you  can't  stop  over  night !  " 

' '  I  can  remain  some  other  time,  but  I  cannot  to-night, 
possibly." 

"I  am  very  sorry;  but,  if  you  must  go,  why,  then,  we 
must  submit  to  it.  You  will  come  again  to-morrow? " 

"  0,  certainly.  I  intend  to  have  my  visit  out,  I  assure 
you." 


GLENWOOD.  261 

"  That  's  right.  Well,  come  to-morrow  and  take  dinner, 
doctor." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to.  But  don't  make  yourselves 
any  extra  trouble  on  my  account." 

He  then  bade  them  all  good-evening,  an/1  went  out  the 
way  he  came  in.  As  soon  as  the  door  was  shut,  he  ran 
home  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  put  on  his  wig,  exchanged  his 
3oat  and  hat,  and  in  five  minutes  was  back  at  Mr.  Goose's 
house,  rapping  at  the  other  door.  Mr.  Goose  opened  it,  and 
eaid : 

"  Good-evening,  Deacon  Glubbings;  what  did  you  stop  to 
knock  for  ?  I  never  do  when  I  come  to  your  house.  Walk 
in,  deacon ;  your  wife  and  daughter  are  here,  and  have  been 
for  some  -time.  I  wish  you  had  come  before,  for  Doctor 
Frances,  an  old  friend  of  ours,  whom  we  have  not  seen  for 
ten  years,  has  just  left.  He  is  a  very  interesting  man,  and 
you  would  be  delighted  with  him ;  he  has  been  living  in 
Illinois,  and  told  us  all  about  that  country  and  the  people. 
He  says  the  land  is  excellent ;  the  people  moral ;  that  it  is 
healthy  after  you  get  acclimated ;  and  a  man  who  is  willing 
to  work  can  become  rich  in  a  few  years.  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  sell  my  farm,  and  pack  up  my  duds  and  start." 

"That  would  be  bad  policy,"  said  the  deacon.  "You 
have  a  good  farm,  and  money  at  interest;  and,  besides,  you 
are  getting  along  in  years.u 

"I  know  it,  but  I  have  to  work  too  hard.  The  doctor 
is  coming  again  to-morrow,  and  I  '11  take  him  over  and 
introduce  him ;  I  know  you  will  be  pleased  with  him.  By 
the  way,  you  remind  me  of  him,  though  I  never  thought  of 
it  before.  Did  it  ever  strike  you,  Mrs.  Gooae,  that  the 
doctor  and  the  deacon  were  something  alike?" 


262  GLENWOOD. 

"Y-e-s,"  said  Mrs.  Goose,  crowding  more  of  the  hand- 
kerchief into  her  mouth. 

' '  I  should  say  that  the  resemblance  was  remarkably  strik- 
ing," observed  Sarah  Glubbings. 

"  They  look  enough  alike  to  be  twins,"  said  Mrs. 
Glubbings. 

"  Not  so  close  a  resemblance  as  that,"  Mr.  Goose  said. 
"  Well,  wife,  what  made  you  so  much  disposed  to  laugh,  this 
evening." 

"  You  know  —  that  —  I  —  was  glad  to  see  him." 

"  Yes,  but  I  would  n't  act  like  a  fool." 

At  this  they  all  laughed  heartily,  which  was  a  great  relief 
to  Mrs.  Goose.  After  a  few  minutes  spent  in  general  con- 
versation, Deacon  Glubbings,  wife,  and  daughter,  went  home. 

Early  in  the  forenoon,  the  deacon  was  ready  to  visit  Mr. 
Goose  again,  in  the  character  of  Doctor  Frances.  He  thought 
he  would  call  before  nine  o'clock,  or  Mr.  Goose  would  be  off 
to  the  village  in  search  of  something  for  dinner.  He  took  a 
more  circuitous  route  than  the  night  before,  and  when  he 
reached  the  road,  he  walked  leisurely  back,  gazing  around 
upon  the  fields  and  woods,  as  though  he  was  an  admirer  of 
the  beautiful,  or  was  interested  in  the  nature  of  the  soil  and 
the  manner  of  its  cultivation.  When  he  arrived  at  the 
house,  he  rapped  again  at  the  front  door.  Mr.  Goose  obeyed 
the  summons. 

"  Good-morning,  doctor."  he  said  ;  "  I -am  glad  you  have 
come.  I  did  not  expect  you  quite  so  early,  however,  and  I 
have  not  taken  off  my  beard  or  changed  my  clothes  yet ;  but 
no  matter  for  that, —  so  walk  in  and  make  yourself  com- 
fortable." 

'  No  necessity  for  any  apologies  at  all ;  old  friends  must 


GLENWOOD.  *  263 

| 

not  be  too  ceremonious,"  said  the  deacon.  "  The  early  part 
of  the  day  is  the  best  time  for  a  ramble,  I  think.  That  you 
did  not  expect  me  before  nine  o'clock,  is  by  no  means  sur- 
prising." 

"  There  is  the  last  paper,  doctor  ;  I  suppose  you  will  ex- 
cuse me  for  a  few  moments? " 

"  0,  certainly.  You  must  by  no  means  neglect  your  busi- 
ness on  my  account." 

Mr.  Goose  was  absent  from  the  room  about  twenty  minutes, 
and  then  he  came  back  with  his  four  children,  three  girls 
and  a  boy,  the  latter  rigged  up  with  his  Sunday  clothes,  and 
the  girls  all  dressed  in  white. 

"Here  are  the  goslings,  doctor,  and  I  am  not  one  bit 
ashamed  of  them." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be;"  and  the  deacon 
took  them  up,  one  after  the  other,  and  kissed  them ;  said  they 
were  the  whitest,  prettiest,  sweetest  goslings  he  had  ever 
seen. 

"  Now,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Goose.  "  I  want  you  to  entertain 
yourself  until  I  shave  and  change  my  clothes, —  promising, 
however,  to  be  very  expeditious." 

"0,  certainly,"  said  the  deacon,  "and  don't  hurry  too 
much,  for  there  is  plenty  of  time."' 

After  he  had  left  the  room,  the  deacon  put  on  his  wig, 
and  carefully  opened  the  front  door,  went  round  to  the  other, 
and  rapped.  (It  was  customary,  when  either  family  went 
or  sent  to  the  village,  to  let  the  other  know,  so  that  errands 
might  be  done  for  both  at  the  same  time.) 

Mr.  Goose  opened  the  door,  and  said,  "Good-morning, 
Deacon  Glubbings." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Goose,"  said  the  deacon.      "I  think 


264  •  GLENWOOD. 

of  going  to  the  village  this  forenoon,  and  I  thought  you 
might  like  to  send." 

"  Very  glad  you  called,  for  I  should  like  to  have  you  do 
an  errand  for  us  very  much.  By  the  way,  Doctor  Frances 
is  in  the  front  room ;  and,  if  it  is  not  too  much  trouble  for 
you,  I  should  like  to  send  and  get  something  for  dinner.  I  was 
not  expecting  him  quite  so  early,  and  so  lie  found  me  unshaved 
and  in  my  every-day  clothes.  But  here  I  am  keeping  you 
at  the  door  ;  walk  in  and  take  a  seat ;  as  soon  as  I  can  shave 
and  fix  up  a  little,  I  will  introduce  you  to  the  doctor." 

When  Mr.  Goose  was  ready,  he  said, 

"  Come,  deacon,  I  will  now  make  you  acquainted  with  my 
old  friend." 

As  he  pushed  open  the  door,  he  remarked,  supposing  the 
doctor  was  sitting  just  back  of  it, 

"  Doctor  Frances,  shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of — " 

Here  he  stopped  short,  for  he  saw  that  there  was  no  doc- 
tor in  the  room.  He  seemed  a  little  puzzled,  but  remarked, 
"  The  doctor  has  stepped  out  a  minute;  we  will  wait  until 
he  comes  in." 

Mrs.  Goose  now  joined  her  husband  and  the  deacon. 

"Have  you  seen  the  doctor  anywhere  about  the  prem- 
ises?" inquired  Mr.  Goose. 

"  N-o,"  she  replied. 

"  I  left  him  here,  a  few  minutes  since  ;  but  I  presume  he 
thought  that,  as  I  was  busy,  he  would  step  out  and  take  a 
glance  at  the  farm.  He  is  one  of  the  queerest  geniuses  you 
ever  saw ;  nothing  escapes  his  notice,  and  he  seems  to  take 
great  delight  in  rambling  all  about  the  country,  examining 
the  different  soils,  making  geological  collections,  and  bring- 
ing together  various  important  facts.  I  should  n't  wonder 


GLENWOOD.  265 

if  he  was  preparing  a  work  for  the  press,  which  will  be  of 
immense  value." 

"  I  hope  he  will  publish  it,  then,"  said  the  deacon,  "  for, 
if  what  you  say  is  true,  it  must  be  a  work  of  merit ;  and 
the  more  good  books  there  are  the  better,  for  they  do  good 
of  themselves,  and  counteract  the  bad  ones." 

"  If  the  doctor  publishes  a  book,  it  will  be  worth  having; 
don't  you  think  so,  Hannah  ?  " 

"  Y-e-s,"  she  replied. 

"I  will  go  out,  deacon,  and  see  if  I  can  find  him;  for 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  has  gone  far." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  and  asked  if  they  had  not 
seen  him,  and  expressed  great  surprise  that  he  should  absent 
himself  so  long.  At  length  he  began  to  grow  impatient,  and 
went  first  to  one  window  and  then  to  another,  his  tongue, 
all  the  while,  running  very  fast;  for,  as  the  reader  has  learned, 
Mr.  Goose  was  a  great  talker,  never  at  a  loss  for  words ;  but, 
as  is  the  case  with  all  of  his  class,  his  sayings  branched  off 
in  so  many  directions,  that  it  was  necessary  to  lop  off  som«, 
or  there  was  danger  of  your  believing  more  than  the  truth. 

"  I  don't  see  where  the  doctor  can  have  gone,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  It  is  strange  !  very  strange  !  Certainly  he  will 
not  stay  away  much  longer.  I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  he 
had  gone  into  the  woods  in  search  of  plants  ;  he  is  a  botanist, 
as  well  as  geologist.  It  would  be  just  like  him  if  he  came 
liack  with  his  hands  full  of  plants." 

He  now  went  to  the  front  door,  and  then  to  the  back  door, 
scanning  the  country  in  every  direction. 

"  Well,  this  beats  me !  "  he  said.      "  I  should  think  the 
doctor  was  out  of  his  senses,  to  take  himself  off  in  this  way. 
I  will  walk  towards  the  woods,  and  see  if  I  can  find  him." 
23 


266  GLENWOOD. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  the  deacon  removed  his 
wig ;  and,  though  taking  a  circuitous  route,  he  ran  so  fast 
that  he  reached  the  woods  before  him.  He  had  barely  time 
to  sit  down  and  rest  a  minute,  when  he  was  found  by  Mi- 
Goose. 

•"Why,  doctor,"  said  the  latter,  "  where  in  the  world 
have  you  been  ?  I  am  thankful  that  I  have  found  you,  at 
last.  Deacon  Glubbings  is  at  the  house,  and  he  has  been 
waiting  half  an  hour  or  more  to  be  introduced  to  you." 

"  Sorry  you  detained  him  on  my  account.  I  have  been 
taking  a  survey  of  the  land.  You  know  I  told  you  not  to 
hurry ;  and,  not  finding  anything  very  interesting  in  the 
paper,  I  thought  I  would  look  about  the  farm  a  little." 

"  Well,  well,  no  matter  ;  but  let  us  go  back  immediately, 
for  I  fear  the  deacon  will  become  impatient,  if  we  keep  him 
•waiting  much  longer." 

They  returned  to  the  house,  and  entered  the  front  room  ; 
but,  finding  no  one  there,  Mr.  Goose  called  to  his  wife  to 
know  where  the  deacon  was. 

<c  He  went  out  after  you,"  she  said. 

"  Provoking,  I  declare  !  "  said  Mr.  Goose.  <(I  presume 
that  he  has  gone  home,  and  I  must  after  him ;  though,  to  tell 
the  truth,  without  any  circumlocution,  I  don't  much  fancy 
these  wild-goose  chases." 

"  What  was  your  idea?  "  said  the  deacon; — "  that  a  tame 
goose  was  chasing  after  a  wild  one  ?  " 

"  Ah !  doctor,  I  see  that  you  remember  how  to  joke  as 
well  as  ever,"  laughing  heartily  at  the  clever  hit.  "  Well," 
he  continued,  "  I  am  bound  to  have  the  deacon  here,  any 
how  ;  and  I  shall  not  keep  you  waiting  long,  either." 

Mrs.  Glubbings  informed  him  that  the  last  she  saw  of  the 


GLENWOOD.  267 

deacon,  he  wa?  going  towards  his  house.  Could  he  have 
heard  the  hearty  laugh  which  followed  his  retreating  steps, 
he  might  have  become  suspicious  that  a  curious  game  was 
being  played  at  his  expense ;  but  he  did  nrt  hear  it. 

The  false  doctor  watched  Mr.  Goose  until  he  saw  him  enter 
his  dwelling,  when  he  took  the  road,  and  walked  very  fast  in 
the  direction  of  the  village.  Having  gone  as  far  as  he  thought 
best,  he  put  on  his  wig,  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps.  By 
this  time  Mr.  Goose  was  on  his  way  home,  and,  espying  the 
deacon,  went  to  meet  him  on  the  way. 

"  Why  in  the  world  did  n't  you  stay  where  I  left  you, 
deacon  1  I  do  believe  that  the  doctor  and  you  are  deter- 
mined to  keep  me  on  the  chase  !  " 

"  You  were  absent  so  long,  in  search  of  the  doctor,  that 
you  might  have  known  that  I  should  have  come  after  you  ! 
Have  you  found  him?  " 

"  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  have  ;  but  we  must  not  tarry 
long,  or,  just  as  like  as  not,  he  will  be  off  again.  He  never 
did  like  to  remain  in  one  spot  long  enough  to  take  breath. 
I  ;11  warrant  you  he  has  pretty  thoroughly  examined  my  farm, 
and  made  up  his  mind  all  about  it ;  —  the  kind  of  produce  it  is 
best  adapted  to  ;  and  ready  to  tell  me  how  I  can  raise  the 
best  crops  with  the  least  amount  of  labor.  A  queer  genius 
as  you  ever  saw  !  " 

Again  in  the  room  where  Mr.  Goose  supposed  he  had  left 
Doctor  Frances,  they  found  it  empty.  Mr.  Goose  seemed 
very  much  surprised. 

"Your  doctor,"  said  the  deacon,  "is  a  queer  genius, 
certainly ;  for  he  has  the  power  of  making  himself  invisible 
it  pleasure,  and  when  you  were  enumerating  his  various 


268  ULENWOOD. 

clever  faculties,  I  presume  you  forgot  to  mention  the  most 
wonderful  among  them  all." 

"  You  talk  as  though  I  had  been  imposing  upon  you, 
deacon,  but  you  are  mistaken.  The  doctor  will  be  in  soon, 
I  know  ;  for  I  told  him  that  I  was  going  after  you,  and  would 
soon  return.  I  am  surprised  that  he  should  have  left  the 
room  until  we  came  back.  But  perhaps  Hannah  can  tell 
where  he  is." 

The  latter  was  now  up  stairs,  pretending  to  be  very  busy  j 
but,  when  Mr.  Goose  called  her,  she  came  down. 

"Where  in  the  world,"  he  said,  somewhat  impatiently, 
"  is  Doctor  Frances  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  don't  know,"  she  replied ;  "  was  he  not 
here  when  you  came  in?  " 

"  No,  he  was  not.  I  left  him  with  you,  and  I  think  you 
ought  to  know  where  he  is.  I  should  have  thought  you 
would  have  staid  here  and  entertained  him,  instead  of  going 
up  stairs,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  wife  suspiciously,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  done  wrong,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  not  knowing  what  to  think,  "  I  will  go 
out  once  more,  and  see  if  I  can  find  him."  When  he  re- 
turned, he  seemed  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"  I  told  you  that  the  doctor  had  the  rare  faculty  of  render- 
ing himself  invisible,"  said  the  deacon;  "  and  I  am  afraid 
that  we  shall  have  to  wait  a  long  time  before  he  will  mani- 
fest himself  again." 

"  I  am  not  particular  whether  he  does  or  not,"  said  Mr. 
Goose;  "  for  I  don't  think  he  has  done  right.  If  he  means 
it  for  a  joke,  I  think  he  is  carrying  it  altogether  too  far." 


OLENW001>. 

"  So  I  should  think,"  said  Mrs.  Goose,  who  now  began 
to  fear  the  consequences  if  the  joke  was  continued  longer. 

"I  don't  believe  there  has  been  any  Doctor  Frances  here," 
said  the  deacon. 

"  Why,  Deacon  Glubbings  !  Do  you  suppose  that  I 
would  impose  upon  you  in  this  way  ?  Mrs.  Glubbings  saw 
him  last  night,  and  Hannah  has  seen  him  in  this  room  two 
or  three  different  times  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Goose. 

The  deacon  now  arose,  and,  taking  off  his  wig,  said, 
"Shall  I  introduce  you  to  Doctor  Frances !  " 

At  this,  Mr.  Goose  became  very  pale,  and  he  asked, 
"  What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"Didn't  you  know  that  I  wore  a  wig?"  inquired  the 
deacon. 

"  Then  Doctor  Frances  has  not  been  here  at  all !  I  knew 
nothing  about  your  wig,  I  am  sure  !  And  you  were  in  the 
plot,  Hannah?" 

"  Yes,  Nehemiah ;  but  we  only  wanted  to  have  a  little 
fun  with  you." ' 

"  I  am  astonished  at  you  both  !  A  deacon  and  my  own 
wife  playing  off  such  an  imposition,  and  carrying  it  so  far  !  " 

"Now,  don't  be  angry,  husband,  for  we  did  not  mean 
any  harm." 

"I  shall  be  very  sorry,"  said  the  deacon,  "  if  I  have 
offended  you,  very.  We  designed  it  merely  as  an  innocent 
joke,  and  it  may  be,  as  you  say,  that  we  have  gone  too  far 
with  it." 

"  I  should  call  it  a  practical  joke  in  all  its  phases ;  but  I 

shan't  be  so  foolish  as  to  be  angry  about  it.     I  must  say 

that  I  was  decidedly  verdant,  or  you  played  your  parts 

admirably.     I  think  you  would  both  do  well  on  the  Btage, 

23* 


270  GLEN  WOOD. 

and  you  had  better  apply  for  an  engagement  the  next 
theatrical  season,  and  this  will  do  for  the  opening  comedy." 

"It's  your  turn  now,"  said  the  deacon,  "  and  we  must 
submit  with  a  good  grace  to  all  you  say.  I  don't  blame 
you  for  being  somewhat  vexed ;  but,  as  you  are  willing  to 
overlook  this  little  piece  of  fun,  which  may  seem  rather  un- 
dignified for  a  deacon,  no  harm  will  come  of  it." 

"I  think  a  deacon  should  have  some  sport  as  well  as 
other  people ;  and  so  should  clergymen.  In  this  affair,  I 
have  been  the  victim  ;  but  the  thing  was  so  capitally  done, 
I  have  not  one  word  to  say.  And,  as  to  being  angry  for  a 
joke,  it  would  be  most  unwise  ;  for  I  presume  that  I  should 
readily  have  joined  in  with  your  wife  to  play  off  one  upon 
you.  Some  people  are  always  willing  to  give  a  joke,  but 
never  willing  to  take  one.  I  don't  like  such  folks.  You 
said  that  you  intended  to  go  to  the  village  this  forenoon, 
and,  as  a  deacon  Avould  not  tell  a  falsehood,  of  course  you 
will  go  ;  and  I  want  you  to  get  me  the  best  roasting-piece 
of  beef  you  can  find  in  the  market,  and  you*and  Mrs.  Glub- 
bings  shall  take  dinner  with  us.  While  you  are  about  it, 
you  may  as  well  get  me  half  a  dozen  pounds  of  box-raisins. 
for  wife  knows  how  to  make  a  capital  plum-pudding.  I  ex- 
pected to  have  had  the  real  Doctor  Frances  to  dine  with  me ; 
but,  as  I  cannot  have  him,  I  am  determined  to  have  the 
counterfeit." 

The  deacon  procured  the  beef  and  raisins,  and  he  and 
Mrs.  Glubbings,  with  their  children,  spent  the  remainder  of 
the  day  at  Mr.  Goose's ;  and  when  they  separated  at  night 
the  parties  were  as  good  friends  as  ever. 


CHAPTEK  XXII 

HAPPIER  DAYS  FOR  WILLIE. A  NEW  SORROW.  —  RETURN  OF  MR.  YOLENa 

THE    DESIRED    INFORMATION   OBTAINED. 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Wyman  were  anxious  to  do  as  well  by 
Willie  as  by  an  own  child.  They  realized  that  he  had  no 
father  or  mother  to  care  for  him ;  no  brother  to  encourage,  or 
sister's  love  to  cheer  and  bless.  They  were  aware  that  his 
experience  at  the  poor-house  was  ill  calculated  to  give  him 
confidence  in  his  fellow-beings  or  in  himself;  and  that  the 
insults  and  the  wrongs  which  had  been  heaped  upon  him  by 
those  who  ought  to  have  been  in  better  business  would  have 
a  lasting  influence  for  evil,  unless  they  were  counteracted  by 
love  and  kindness.  With  an  earnest  desire  to  do  right,  there 
was  no  difficulty;  and  Willie  soon  learned  to  confide  in  these 
kind  friends,  and  to  love  them  as  though  they  were  his  own 
parents. 

For  a  time  he  was  very  distrustful  of  himself,  but,  as  he 
was  taught  self-respect  by  precept  and  example,  his  distrust 
soon  wore  away,  and  all  things  began  to  assume  a  new  aspect. 
Frank,  Jeannie,  and  Arthur,  made  him  a  companion  and 
equal,  and  others  followed  their  example.  He  was  no  longer 
an  object  for  ridicule,  but  a  being  to  be  loved  and  respected. 
The  world  had  seemed  dark  to  him,  but  now  light  and  beau- 
tiful ;  there  was  a  new  glory  in  the  sun,  a  clearer  loveliness 


272  GLENWOOD. 

in  the  stars,  a  softer  beauty  in  the  bending  sky,  a  more 
wondrous  majesty  in  the  dusky  clouds.  The  earth  was 
clothed  in  a  fresher  green ;  the  flowers  were  decked  in  more 
brilliant  hues;  while  the  birds  warbled  songs  of  sweeter 
melody,  and  all  nature  seemed  to  have  been  brought  into 
more  perfect  harmony.  And  so  the  chains  Avhich  had  bound 
him  so  fast,  galling  his  very  soul,  were  broken  one  by  one, 
until  his  spirit  was  free, —  free  as  the  lark  that  sings  in  mid- 
heaven, —  free  as  the  wind  that  bloweth  where  it  listeth, — 
free  as  the  young  soul  can  be  when  it  trusts  in  God  and 
loves  its  fellow-souls. 

Willie  was  not  slow  in  perceiving  that  the  Wymans  were 
anxious  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  make  him  a  good  and 
happy  boy ;  and  he  was  equally  anxious  to  serve  them  faith- 
fully, and  conduct  himself  so  well  as  never  to  cause  them 
one  moment's  unhappiness.  or  one  regret  because  they  had 
so  kindly  interested  themselves  in  his  welfare.  He  labored 
diligently  and  cheerfully,  and  Mr.  Wyman  was  always 
willing  to  give  him  ample  time  for  amusement  and  re- 
creation. 

Willie's  happiest  moments  were  spent  in  the  company  of 
Jeannie.  In  the  evening,  when  other  boys  chose  to  assemble 
for  play,  he  preferred  to  remain  in  the  house,  dividing  his 
time  between  the  study  of  his  book  and  the  bright  eyes  of 
his  teacher.  The  former  was  pleasant  enough;  but  the 
latter 

The  first  of  May,  Jeannie  went  to  a  neighboring  town  to 
teach,  the  term  lasting  four  months ;  and  now  Willie  was 
less  studious,  for  the  evenings  were  short,  the  weather  warm, 
and  the  days  very  long.  When  night  came,  he  was  ao  weary 
that  he  cared  not  for  books,  though  I  should  scarcely  dare 


GLEN  WOOD.  273 

say  that  he  would  not,  if  his  well-loved  instructor  had  been 
present. 

Jeannie  had  partly  agreed  to  teach  the  school  in  Glen- 
wood  the  coming  winter  which  she  had  taught  the  winter 
previous ;  but  her  mother's  health  was  so  delicate  that  she 
wrote  to  Deacon  Glubbings  that  home  duties  would  oblige 
her  to  give  up  the  idea  of  teaching  for  the  present.  Mrs. 
Wynian  had  seemed  much  better  in  the  summer,  and  her 
family  fondly  hoped  that  when  autumn  came  she  would  be 
quite  well.  Her  cough,  which  had  troubled  her  at  intervals 
for  two  years,  seemed  to  have  left  her  entirely.  But,  as 
soon  as  the  cold  winds  of  October  began  to  blow,  her  cough 
commenced  again,  more  distressing  than  ever,  so  that  by 
the  time  winter  set  in  all  her  friends  were  greatly  alarmed ; 
but  her  mind  was  still  peaceful  and  serene.  True  she  was 
fearful  that  consumption  was  eating  away  her  life,  but  she 
felt  willing  to  die  if  her  time  had  come.  God  was  good, 
he  was  her  Father,  and  she  would  put  her  trust  in  him. 
Very  dearly  she  loved  all  the  members  of  her  family,  and 
when  she  thought  of  leaving  them  the  pearly  tears  would 
trickle  down  her  pale  cheeks.  To  be  unreconciled  would 
be  wrong,  and  avail  nothing ;  therefore  she  would  patiently 
submit  to  the  will  of  Heaven. 

Mrs.  Wyman  gradually  failed  during  the  winter;  and 
there  was  so  much  anxiety  on  her  account,  that  the  inmates 
of  the  cottage  were  less  joyous  than  they  would  otherwise 
have  been.  But  it  was  a  beautiful  home  still,  and  they  all 
flattered  themselves  that  when  the  cold  winter  had  gone,  and 
the  spring  should  come  with  its  warm  south  winds,  its 
showers,  birds,  and  blossoms,  the  distressing  cough  would 
leave  her,  and  she  would  be  as  well  as  the  summer  before. 


274  GLEN  WOOD. 

Very  faithful  were  they  to  the  invalid,  but  none  more  so 
than  Willie.  Mrs.  Wyman,  he  felt,  had  been  to  him  all 
that  a  mother  could  be,  caring  for  him  in  health,  and  watch- 
ing over  him  in  sickness.  He  could  not  have  her  die, —  she 
was  too  good,  too  beautiful,  and  too  much  needed  at  her 
home,  and  by  the  world,  the  suffering  world,  to  be  cut 
down  in  the  prime  of  life.  Many  hours  did  he  sit  by  her 
side,  anticipating  her  every  wish,  and  with  his  looks  arid 
words  of  gratitude  seek  to  make  her  happy.  When  she 
had  a  very  distressing  coughing  spell,  he  would  go  to  his 
room,  kneel  down  by  his  bed,  bury  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  weep,  and  pour  out  his  soul  in  prayer  that  she 
might  not  die.  Jeannie  knew  well  how  Willie  suffered  in 
anticipation  of  the  dread  event;  and  she  tried  to  comfort 
him  with  the  hope  that  her  dear  mother  would  yet  regain 
her  health.  But,  while  she  thus  encouraged  others,  her  own 
heart  was  nearly  hopeless. 

The  words  of  Jeannie  had  a  more  soothing  effect  upon 
Willie  than  those  of  any  one  else ;  for  she  had  been  the  first 
to  befriend  him.  Through  her  he  had  gained  all. 

But  there  was  one  thing  that  troubled  him  now.  In  the 
autumn,  after  Jeannie  came  home,  having  finished  the  term 
for  which  she  was  engaged,  the  teacher  whom  she  visited  at 
the  close  of  her  school  in  Glenwood  came  to  visit  her,  in 
company  with  an  older  brother. 

Emma  Lund  was  a  pretty,  interesting  girl,  of  Jeannie's 
age,  and  her  brother,  Waldo,  was  four  years  her  senior. 
The  latter  was  a  tall,  handsome  young  man,  well  educated, 
and  more  than  ordinarily  intelligent.  Jeannie  had  previously 
met  him  at  his  home,  and  they  were  mutually  pleased,  and 
there  was  evidently  a  growing  attachment  between  them 


QLENWOOD.  275 

During  this  visit  he  was  very  attentive,  and,  previous  to  his 
leaving,  a  friendly  correspondence  was  agreed  upon.  Willie 
was  pained  to  see  them  so  much  together  —  to  witness  the 
pleasure  with  which  Jeannie  received  his  undisguised  prefer- 
ence and  ardent  devotion.  And  then  he  would  think  of  his 
poverty, —  that  he  had  been  a  poor-house  boy, —  that  he 
was  wholly  dependent  upon  Jeannie's  father, —  that  she  was 
three  yeai*s  older  than  he. —  that  it  was  preposterous  for  him 
to  think  of  gaining  her  love.  The  more  he  thought,  the 
more  wretched  he  became,  and  the  more  foolish  did  it  seem 
that  Jeannie  Wyman,  such  a  dear,  beautiful  girl,  worthy  of 
the  best  man  in  the  world,  should  ever  think  of  him  as  a 
husband.  He  wondered  not  that  she  was  pleased  with  Mr. 
Lund.  He  was  older  than  she,  fine  looking,  with  quite 
wealthy  and  honorable  friends.  He  felt  sure  that  he  would 
win  her  heart,  and  leave  him  wretched.  The  letters  that 
came  every  few  weeks  served  to  keep  the  wound  open,  and 
caused  poor  Willie  —  foolish  Willie,  if.  you  choose  —  many 
sad  hours.  Jeannie  saw  that  he  was  not  so  happy  as  he  was 
during  the  first  months  of  his  home  with  them,  and  she  in- 
genuously sought  to  learn  the  cause  ;  but  Willie  kept  it  close 
in  his  heart.  It  might  have  been  better  for  him  had  he  told 
her  all;  but  he  could  not  do  that — no,  he  would  rather  suffer 
more  intensely  still  than  she  should  know  it. 

One  evening,  Willie  being  absent  at  the  time,  Mr.  Wy- 
man remarked  to  his  wife  that  he  had  heard  some  news,  that 
day,  in  which  he  thought  she  would  be  interested. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Mr.  Volens  is  in  town." 

"Mr.  Volens?  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it!  Have  you 
seen  him?  " 


276  GLENWOOD. 

"No;  but  I  have  seen  some  one  who  has." 

"When  did  he  arrive?" 

"Last  night." 

"  Now  we  shall  learn  about  Delia's  child." 

"And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Motley,  "I  doubt  not  you  will 
be  satisfied  that  Willie  Cunard  is  not  the  one." 

"  And  I  may  be  satisfied  that  he  is  the  one,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wyman.  ' '  He  reminds  me  more  and  more  of  Delia,  every 
day.  His  expression  is  like  hers,  and  he  has  just  such 
dimples ;  and  he  manifests  equal  attachment  and  gratitude. 
Of  late  he  seems  to  have  his  moments  of  sadness,  which 
remind  me  of  her  bitter  sorrows." 

"  You  feel  very  certain  about  it,  Carra,"  said  Mr.  Wy- 
man, "  and  I  have  a  presentiment  that  you  are  right." 

"  Do  you  know  how  long  he  remains  in  town  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Wyman. 

"  No,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  probably  a  number  of  weeks." 

' '  I  am  very  anxious  about  this  matter,  John  ;  and,  as  Mr. 
Volens  may  leave  soon,  I  want  you  to  go  and  see  him  early 
to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  will.  I  should  have  gone  in  search  of  him 
to-night;  but  it  was  too  late  when  I  heard  of  it." 

At  this  juncture,  there  was  a  rap  at  the  door  ;  and  when 
Mr.  Wyman  opened  it,  the  one  who  knocked  said, 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Wyman." 

"Why,  good-evening,  Mr.  Volens!"  said  Mr.  Wyman. 
"I  am  very  glad  you  have  come  !  We  were  just  talking 
about  you.  Walk  in." 

"Will  you  have  your  horse  put  up?  "  asked  Mr.  Wyman, 
after  there  had  been  a  shaking  of  hands  all  round  and  the 
usual  inquiries  about  each  other's  health. 


GLENWOOD.  277 

"I  guess  not,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
to  stop  at  the  village  to-night." 

"  If  you  will  tarry  with  us,  you  shall  be  very  welcome," 
said  Mr.  Wyman. 

"I  don't  doubt  that,  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Volens  ;  "but  it 
would  interfere  with  arrangements  previously  made." 

"  Positive  arrangements  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Wyman. 

"  Why,  no,"  he  replied,  "  not  exactly  that ;  for  I  did  not 
promise  for  a  certainty." 

"  Then  you  shall  stop  where  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Wyman ; 
"  for  it  is  so  late  they  will  not  expect  you  now;  and  we 
want  to  have  a  long  conversation  with  you.  So  I  will 
put  your  horse  in  the  stable,  and  you  just  make  yourself 
contented." 

While  Mr.  Wyman  was  taking  care  of  the  horse,  Mrs. 
Motley,  who  was  very  thoughtful  about  such  things,  in- 
quired of  Mr.  Volens  if  he  had  taken  tea.  He  said  that  he 
had  not,  but  he  disliked  to  trouble  them. 

"  It  will  be  but  very  little  trouble,"  said  Jeannie ;  and  by 
the  time  her  father  came  in  the  supper  was  on  the  table. 

When  Mr.  Volens  had  done  eating,  Mr.  Wyman  said  : 

"  I  told  you  that  we  wanted  to  have  a  long  conversation 
with  you ;  and  I  presume  that  you  thought  we  wished  to  ask 
about  your  travels  during  your  absence,  and  how  you  have 
enjoyed  yourself,  and  what  success  you  have  met  with. 
Now,  all  those  things  would  be  interesting,  unless  you  have 
already  answered  such  or  similar  questions  until  you  are 
tired  of  them,  for  that  is  usually  the  way  with  travellers. 
There  is  another  subject,  which  interests  us  more  than  those 
I  have  enumerated ;  and,  after  we  have  settled  that,  we  shall 
be  happy  to  learn  of  your  travels  —  the  haps  and  mishaps, 
24 


278  GLENWOOD. 

and  everything  of  interest  which  you  may  care  to  commu- 
nicate for  our  especial  benefit." 

"  Possibly  I  may  surmise  the  nature  of  the  subject  which 
interests  you  so  much,"  said  Mr.  Volens.  "  However,  I  will 
not  anticipate,  but  allow  you  to  introduce  it." 

They  now  inquired  the  name  of  the  people  who  adopted 
Delia's  child,  where  they  lived,  &c.  &c. 

His  answers  to  these  questions  contained  the  information 
which  the  reader  has  already  received,  except  that  Mr. 
Volens  visited  the  town  in  Illinois  where  Mr..  Cunard  had 
lived,  and  learned  that  he  had  returned  to  New  England. 
Mr.  Wyman  now  remarked  that  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Willie 
Cunard  lived  with  him,  and  gave  Mr.  Volens  his  history  so 
far  as  he  was  acquainted  with  it.  The  latter  thought  it  very 
probable  that  he  was  Delia  Gregg's  child,  for  Mr.  Cunard' s 
name  was  William,  and  the  name  of  the  little  child  that 
died  Willie.  The  next  day,  Mr.  Wyman  and  Mr.  Volens 
rode  to  Monson  to  pursue  their  inquiries  further  ;  the  result 
was,  confirmation  of  previous  impressions,  strong  as  Holy 
Writ. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

WILLIE    IS     TOLD     WHO     WERE     HIS      PARENTS. VISITS      HIS     MOTHER'S 

ORATE. BEAUTY    OF    TRUE    PIETY.  DEATH  OP    THE  GOOD. 

IT  was  a  subject  of  doubt  in  the  Wyman  family  whether 
it  was  their  duty  to  inform  Willie  of  his  true  parentage. 
Mr.  Wyman  said  that,  if  it  was  his  case,  he  should  want  to 
know  the  truth ;  and  therefore  he  should  do  as  he  would  be 
done  by.  Willie  was  a  sensible  boy,  and,  though  it  might 
cause  him  pain,  yet  he  would  be  thankful  for  the  informa- 
tion. 

In  due  time  he  was  made  acquainted  with  his  real  history. 
He  was  astounded,  and  could  scarcely  believe  it,  and,  at 
first,  was  greatly  mortified;  but,  as  the  Wymans  showed 
him  as  much  respect  as  they  ever  had  done,  he  came  to  re- 
gard the  subject  in  a  different  light.  So  beautifully  did 
Mrs.  Wyman  speak  of  his  mother,  that  he  was  not  sorry 
he  was  her  child,  and  there  was  a  deeper  gratitude  in  h:s 
heart  towards  those  who  had  been  such  faithful  friends 
to  her,  and  equally  faithful  to  him.  It  was  his  delight  to 
sit  near  Mrs.  Wyman,  and  drink  in  with  the  greatest  inter- 
est the  many  things  she  had  to  tell  him  of  his  mother.  He 
was  glad  to  learn  that  she  was  young  and  fair,  that  she  had 
dark  hair  and  eyes,  that  her  dimples  were  like  his  own, 
ihat  her  form  was  handsome,  her  face  beautiful,  her  expres- 


280  GLBNWOOD. 

sion  all  soul,  and  her  manners  winning.  It  made  him  happy 
to  know  that  her  heart  was  so  good,  that  she  cherished  the 
deepest  gratitude  and  love  for  her  benefactors,  that  her  soul 
was  full  of  poetry,  that  she  was  a  worshipper  at  the  shrine 
of  the  beautiful.  He  wept  when  told  how  terribly  she 
suffered,  how  sensitive  she  was,  and  how  anxious  to  die  and 
go  to  the  dear  one  who  had  gone  before  her.  He  wanted  to 
return  to  Glenwood,  and  look  at  the  lake  and  the  white  lilies 
he  had  so  often  admired ;  to  have  the  spot  pointed  out  where 
his  father  lost  his  priceless  life  —  his  grave,  where  there 
was  silence  and  dust.  The  cottage  where  he  and  his  mother 
resided  had  been  torn  down  and  removed  ;  but  he  would 
go  and  gaze  upon  the  dear  spot  where  it  stood.  And  his 
mother's  home  —  he  would  visit  that  —  the  garden  she  loved 
so  well ;  and  her  old  friends  should  tell  him  of  her  younger 
days,  when  she  was  a  beautiful  little  child. 

In  company  with  Frank  and  Jeannie,  the  two  surviving 
ones  who  first  fed  the  famished  stranger,  and  who  invited 
her  to  their  home,  he  went  to  his  mother's  grave ;  and  he 
bowed  himself  upon  it,  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  wept. 
They  spoke  to  him  words  of  comfort,  and  directed  his  atten- 
tion to  their  sister's  and  brother's  graves,  who  were  sleeping 
by  her  side ;  and  then  they  told  him  how  dearly  Flora  loved 
her,  and  how  much  his  mother  loved  her  in  return;  how 
Flora  wept  when  Delia  died, —  so  it  was  meet  that  their 
bodies  should  lie  there  quietly  in  company,  for,  no  doubt, 
their  spirits  roamed  the  fields  of  heaven  hand-in-hand,  as 
beautiful  as  the  pure  and  lovely  can  be,  in  the  presence  of 
the  living  God.  And  now  Willie  planted  more  flowers  on 
the  grave  of  his  mother,  and  came  often  and  sat  down  by  it, 
and  thought  of  her,  with  the  deepest  love  in  his  heart, 


GLENWOOD.  281 

There  was  no  mortification  and  regret  now,  as  when  first 
told  of  his  parents.  It  opened  to  him  a  new  world  for 
thought,  and  suggested  new  incentives  to  ambition.  He 
wished  that  they  might  have  been  spared  —  that  he  might 
have  looked  in  love  upon  his  handsome  mother ;  but  such 
wishes  he  knew  were  vain.  He  was  sorry  that  Mr.  Gregg 
was  his  grandfather.;  and  when  Mrs.  Wyman  informed 
him  that  he  compelled  his  daughter,  his  dearest  child,  to 
leave  his  house  forever,  those  dark-blue  eyes  flashed  like  fire, 
and  his  face  became  deathly  pale.  He  thought  of  terrible 
revenge,  not  only  for  his  mother's  injuries,  but  also  for  his 
own.  Mrs.  Wyman  read  his  thoughts  at  a  glance,  and  she 
told  him  that  he  must  try  to  forgive  the  wrongs ;  that  the 
noblest  men  and  women  do  not  wish  to  be  revenged  upon 
those  who  injure  them,  but  are  content  to  leave  them  in  the 
hands  of  the  great  God.  In  her  own  beautiful  way  she 
calmed  his  troubled  spirit,  and  bade  him  seek  for  higher, 
more  ennobling  things,  which  should  bring  peace  to  his 
soul,  and  communicate  joy  to  others.  She  asked  him  to  study 
the  character  of  the  man  of  Nazareth,  and  try  to  follow  the 
holy  principles  which  he  inculcated  with  heavenly  eloquence 
and  God-given  power. 

Quickly  did  her  words  reach  his  heart,  and  he  knelt  at  her 
feet,  kissed  her  hands,  and  said  that  he  would  be  guided  by 
her,  for  she  had  the  power  to  charm  away  the  fell  spirit  of 
evil.  He  would  learn  to  forgive  his  bitterest  enemy,  repent 
of  his  unholy  thoughts,  and  strive  earnestly  to  become  a  good 
and  noble  man.  In  these  resolutions  Jeannie  encouraged  him ; 
so  did  they  all ;  and  the  germ  which  was  planted  in  love  and 
faith  sprang  up  and  grew  rapidly  in  the  sunshine  of  human 
24* 


282  QLENWOOD. 

kindness,  bringing  forth  much  fruit,  while  the  angels  of 
heaven  looked  on  and  rejoiced. 

When  the  warm  spring  days  came,  Mr.  Wyman  was  accus- 
tomed to  take  his  wife  out  on  short  rides,  hoping  that  the 
exercise,  combined  with  the  bland,  fresh  air,  and  the  sweet 
beauty  of  the  season,  might  restore  her  failing  health.  She 
was  now  very  pale  and  thin,  and  those  beautiful  hands  of  hers, 
so  soothing  to  the  weary  and  sick,  were  as  white  as  the 
driven  snow.  But  the  clear  gray  eyes  never  looked  so  beau- 
tiful. Their  expression  had  changed,  it  was  true,  but  only 
to  make  them  the  more  lovely,  the  more  like  heaven.  On 
one  of  these  excursions  the  following  conversation  passed 
between  them : 

"  0,  what  a  beautiful  spring  day  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  and, 
dearest,  how  much  I  enjoy  these  rides  !  " 

"I  hope  they  will  make  you  better,"  he  said,  anxiously, 
"for  sometimes  I  feel  almost  discouraged." 

"You  must  not  allow  such  feelings,  whether  I  live  or  die. 
Let  us  both  believe"  my  dear  one,  that  it  is  all  for  the  best." 

"But,  Carra,  love,  how  can  I  give  you  up?  Think  how 
long  we  have  been  all  in  all  to  each  other  —  how  happy  we 
have  been  —  how  light  and  beautiful  you  have  made  our 
home.  0,  it  seems  not  right  that  you  should  die  and  leave 
me  and  the  children  !  " 

"  Don't  be  so  sad,  dearest,  for  we  know  that  earth's  joys 
are  transitory.  Great  has  been  my  happiness  with  you,  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  be  happier  in  heaven  because  of 
the  blessed  days  I  have  passed  in  your  society  on  earth.  I 
would  gladly  continue  with  you,  my  faithful  hilsband,  until 
old  age  should  teach  us  that  it  was  time  our  earthly  bless- 
ings should  end,  while  we  looked  with  strong  faith  for  the 


'  ULENWOOD.  288 

golden  hills  of  eternity.  But  I  bow  to  the  will  of  Heaven. 
If  we  must  part  now,  in  the  glorious  summer  of  our  joys,  I 
am  reconciled." 

"  And  I  will  try  to  be,  Carra,  though  it  is  hard,  very  hard. 
You  will  be  well  again,  I  am  sure  you  will.  I  fear  you 
think  that  your  time  has  come.  But  don't  cherish  such 
thoughts,  my  dear  one.  I  know  that  you  would  be  happy 
in  heaven  ;  but  you  are  happy  here.  It  would  give  you 
much  joy  to  clasp  to  your  heart  our  lost  ones,  who  will  be 
glad  to  see  their  dear  mother  again.  But  they  need  you  not, 
as  your  earthly  children  do.  You  must  not  give  up  all  hope 
of  regaining  your  health.  I  shall  be  so  lonely  when  you  are 
gone  !  " 

' '  Your  words,  my  dear,  make  me  happy,  and  they  make 
me  sad.  I  have  earnestly  prayed  that  health  might  be 
restored  to  me,  for  your  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  my  chil- 
dren ;  but  I  have  tried  to  feel  that,  if  the  cup  may  not  pass 
from  me,  I  would  drink  it  without  a  murmur ;  and  you  must 
feel  the  same.  If  I  may  not  remain  with  you,  it  will  not  be 
long  before  you  will  come  to  me.  Then  be  reconciled,  my 
own,  and  we  will  both  pray  that  I  may  live  for  many  years." 

"  And  may  our  prayers  be  answered  !  But  do  not  give 
yourself  pain  in  relation  to  me,  dearest ;  for  I  will  bear  up 
bravely,  however  great  my  trials." 

"  I  am  thankful  to  hear  you  say  so  ;  for  God  is  ever  good, 
and  we  should  not  murmur,  though  his  providence  may  seem 
strange  and  mysterious  to  us.  0,  this  is  a  beautiful  day  ! 
When  in  the  best  of  health,  I  never  tasted  of  purer  joy. 
Look  at  yonder  waves  of  hills  —  how  green  they  are,  how 
clear  and  bright !  How  gracefully  those  tall  trees  bend  their 
stately  heads,  moved  by  the  light  fingers  of  the  breeze !  I 


284  GLENWOOD. 

do  love  such  a  season  as  this ;  I  love  those  pretty  flowers, 
the  blue-eyed  violets,  the  lovely  anemone,  and  all  the  beau- 
tiful in  nature." 

"  You  are  quite  cheerful  to-day,  my  love,  and  I  am  glad 
that  you  are.  You  seem  as  you  did  when  in  health,  and  you 
still  retain  your  enthusiastic  admiration  of  the  beautiful." 

"  And  that  admiration  will  continue  unto  the  end.  I 
loved  the  flowers  when  a  little  child,  and  I  have  not  let  the 
weeds  of  care  and  trouble  spring  up  to  choke  that  love  until 
it  died.  And  how  much  we  gain  in  this  !  At  night  the 
heavens  are  glorious  with  celestial  light,  crowded  are  the 
angelic  arches  with  stars ;  and,  all  day  long,  the  floors  of 
earth  are  brilliant  with  the  bright  mosaics,  the  lovely,  heaven- 
gazing  flowers.  0,  we  will  never  doubt  but  that  God  is 
good  ;  and  in  life  or  in  death  we  will  trust  in  him." 

They  continued  their  ride,  thus  happily  conversing,  until 
Mrs.  Wyman  was  weary,  when  they  returned  home. 

Although  everything  was  done  for  the  invalid  that  kind- 
ness and  true-hearted  devotion  could  devise,  she  continually 
grew  weaker,  and  her  cough  more  distressing.  And  now 
they  knew  that  she  must  die  —  that  they  might  not  longer 
hope.  But  among  all  those  afflicted  ones  Willie  was  the 
saddest.  To  be  deprived  so  soon  of  this  new-found  mother, 
how  could  he  be  reconciled  ? 

Mrs.  Motley,  who  was  now  quite  aged,  was  very  sorrowful 
at  the  thought  of  losing  this  dear  child;  she  had  fondly 
hoped  that  she  would  live  to  close  her  own  eyes,  and  follow 
her  to  her  last  resting-place  on  earth.  But  Mrs.  Motley  was 
a  Christian,  and  a  long  experience  had  taught  her  that  all 
our  hope  should  not  be  placed  here,  for  our  friends  remain 


GLENWOOD.  286 

with  us  only  a  brief  season,  and  we  should  he  ready  at  all 
times  to  resign  them  to  heaven. 

The  faithful  Jeannie  now  scarcely  left  her  mother's  side ; 
and  Mrs.  Wyman  said  that  as  she  had  done  to  others  was 
now  done  to  her.  All  her  family  were  alike  devoted.  She 
almost  thought  it  a  luxury  to  be  sick,  to  have  so  many  lov- 
ing ones  hovering  around  her. 

It  was  the  last  morning  of  spring.  The  sun  rose  clear,  and 
flooded  the  world  with  light.  The  lark  welcomed  his  rising 
with  a  song,  and  all  the  feathered  choir  broke  forth  in  sweet 
gushes  of  melody.  Gentle  was  the  breeze,  balmy  and  warm, 
for  it  came  from  the  south,  kissing  on  its  way  a  thousand 
beds  of  flowers.  It  was  on  this  delightful  morning  that  the 
family  at  the  cottage  were  summoned  to  the  bed  of  the  dying 
one.  Briefly,  but  lovingly,  she  bade  them  all  farewell,  and 
then  she  said  : 

"  Lift  me  up,  dears,  that  I  may  see  the  sun  once  more. 
It  is  so  glorious,  so  beautiful,  in  its  divine  effulgence.  Do 
not  weep,  my  own  dear  ones  ;  for  I  will  not  forget  you,  and  I 
will  be  with  you  in  the  hour  of  danger  and  sorrow.  I  am 
faint  now ;  lay  me  gently  down,  for  I  would  rest." 

They  laid  the  loved  one  down,  and  smoothed  the  pillow 
where  reposed  that  pale,  angelic  face ;  and  when  they  thought 
that  darkness  had  gathered  around  her,  even  then  her  star 
was  rising  —  rising  above  the  clouds,  higher  and  more  glo- 
rious than  the  sun,  until  it  rested  in  heaven,  crowned  with 
a  newer  and  more  celestial  beauty,  which  shall  brighten 
for  ever  and  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TISIT  OF  THE  LUNDS. WILLIE'S  THOUGHTS  IN  RELATION  TO  JBANNIE.— - 

BETROTHAL. MARRIAGE.  —  THE      GRIEF     OF     WILLIE.  —  MYSTERIOUS 

DISAPPEARANCE. JEANNIE's     WEDDING. NEW     SOURCES      OF     HAP- 
PINESS. 

IT  was  a  sad  household  now,  that  at  the  cottage  ;  for  the 
loving  wife,  the  devoted  mother,  was  dead.  Her  presence 
had  made  that  home  beautiful,  and  her  absence  caused  those 
who  remained  the  deepest  sorrow.  They  all  mourned  their 
great  loss  ;  but  they  did  not  despair,  for  they  believed  that 
she  was  with  the  angels.  She  was  not  dead  —  0,  no  ! —  but, 
having  cast  off  the  incumbrance  of  the  flesh,  her  immortal 
spirit,  free  from  all  sorrow,  now  trod  the  green  valleys  of 
heaven.  The  duties  of  life  were  not  neglected  because  of 
their  severe  affliction ;  but  each  one  sought  to  do  his  or  her 
part  cheerfully,  seeking  for  the  comfort  and  blessedness  of 
all.  And  so  the  sunlight  of  love  continued  to  cheer  their 
home. 

In  two  months  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Wyman,  Waldo 
Lund  and  sister  came  again  to  visit  Jeannie.  They  were 
welcomed  by  her,  but  Willie  was  very  unhappy.  He  had  come 
to  regard  the  letters  which  were  received  from  Mr.  Lund, 
as  often  as  once  a  month,  as  friendly  epistles  merely,  being 
aware  that  Jeannie  corresponded  with  a  number  of  frienda 


GLENWOOD.  287 

of  both  sexes.  But,  seeing  them  together  every  day,  the 
pleasure  they  took  in  each  other's  society  served  to  dispel  the 
illusion.  That  they  were  mutually  in  love,  and  would  socn 
be  engaged,  he  did  not  doubt.  He  felt  that  it  was  the  height 
of  absurdity  to  expect  her  to  wait  for  him  till  he  was  old 
enough  to  marry —  wait  for  a  poor,  dependent  boy  until  he 
should  obtain  the  requisite  means  to  furnish  her  a  good  home. 
She  regarded  him  in  the  light  of  a  brother  alone  ;  and  she 
would  never  dream  that  he  would  for  a  moment  cherish  the 
wish  that  she  should  hold  any  other  relation  to  him  than  that 
of  a  sister.  It  might  be  very  presumptive,  very  foolish,  he 
thought ;  but,  for  all  that,  he  loved  her,  and  he  wanted  her 
to  be  his  wife ;  he  had  loved  her  since  his  eyes  first  fell  upon 
her  —  loved  her  when  his  garments  were  rags,  and  he  was 
the  slighted,  unhappy,  poor-house  boy.  Since  then  his  love 
had  continually  increased  in  strength  and  intensity.  But 
he s could  not  tell  her  of  it,  and  she  must  never  know  it. 
If  he  were  of  her  age,  or  a  few  years  her  senior,  then  he 
might  tell  her  all.  But  she  was  a  beautiful  young  lady, 
attracting  all  eyes  and  hearts,  while  he  was  but  a  mere  boy. 
How  very  presumptive  in  him  ! 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  were  continually  passing 
through  his  mind ;  and,  though  he  sought  to  expel  them, 
they  lingered  still.  He  might  not  win  her  love  then,  he  well 
knew ;  but  to  see  her  the  wife  of  another  was  what  he  could 
not  patiently  submit  to.  If  she  would  only  remain  unmar- 
ried for  a  few  years,  why,  he  would  be  a  man,,  no  longer 
dependent  on  others,  but  bravely  hewing  out  for  himself  a 
fortune  and  a  name  ;  and  then  he  should  have  the  courage  to 
offer  her  a  heart  which  had  long  cherished  the  most  devoted 
love.  Why  should  she  not  remain  unmarried  ?  Her  mother 


,88  GLENWOOD. 

flras  in  the  grave,  her  grandmother  was  old,  and  her  services 
were  required  bj  her  father.  Certainly  it  was  her  duty  to 
relinquish  the  idea  of  marriage  for  the  present. 

After  the  visitors  returned  home,  letters  came  more  fre- 
quently than  before ;  not  only  from  Waldo,  but  from  Emma, 
too.  The  latter,  however,  were  not  all  directed  to  Jeannie, 
but  the  most  of  them  to  Frank.  In  the  autumn  Waldo 
came  again,  and  this  time  alone.  Willie  no  longer  doubted 
that  Mr.  Lund  and  Jeannie  were  affianced.  He  had  won 
her  love,  and  all  his  own  hopes  were  forever  blasted. 
Though  very  sad  at  heart,  yet  he  continued  to  labor  on 
as  diligently  as  ever,  resolving  to  be  always  faithful  to 
those  who  had  been  so  faithful  to  him.  Employed  every 
day,  engaged  in  the  healthy  and  varied  labor  of  cul- 
tivating the  land,  with  a  strong  desire  to  perform  every 
duty  that  was  required  of  him,  he  kept  his  mind  more 
cheerful  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been.  He  tried  to 
drive  away  the  thought  that  Jeannie  belonged  to  him  alone 
—  that  it  was  not  right  she  should  marry.  He  would  re- 
gard her  as  a  sister,  and  pray  for  her  happiness,  even  though 
forever  lost  to  him. 

The  reader  will  ask  if  Mr.  Lund  and  Jeannie  were  really 
affianced.  They  were,  but  the  latter  had  given  her  lover 
to  understand  that  he  must  not  expect  her  to  marry  then, 
for  she  could  not  think  of  leaving  her  father  in  his  loneli- 
ness and  sorrow.  He  had  been  to  her  a  faithful  parent, 
and  she  Would  not  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  forsake  him  when 
she  was  so  requisite  to  his  comfort.  Waldo  was  not  pleased 
with  the  idea  of  postponing  their  marriage  to  an  indefinite 
period ;  he  wanted  her  to  be  his  now ;  but  he  loved  the  brave 
girl  none  the  less  because  of  her  noble  devotion  to  her  father. 


GLENWOOD.  289 

The  spring  that  Willie's  engagement  expired,  Frank  Wy- 
man  was  married  to  Emma  Lund ;  and,  as  he  did  not  like  to 
till  the  soil,  he  engaged  in  the  mercantile  business  in  the 
town  of  Moulton,  about  forty  miles  from  Yamford.  Willie 
made  another  engagement  with  Mr.  Wyman,  agreeing  to 
remain  with  him  until  he  was  eighteen,  for  one  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  three  months  schooling  every  year. 

The  next  winter  Mr.  Wyman  was  married  to  a  woman 
fifteen  years  younger  than  himself;  and  Mrs.  Motley  went 
to  reside  with  her  only  daughter,  where  she  remained  until 
she  closed  her  earthly  pilgrimage. 

Mr.  Wyman  was  well  pleased  with  his  new  wife,  but,  as 
is  not  unfrequently  the  case,  the  children  could  not  feel  as 
much  affection  for  her  as  they  wished ;  and,  as  Jeannie  was 
not  truly  happy  at  home,  she  was  willing  to  name  the  day 
when  she  would  crown  the  wishes  of  her  lover.  Early 
in  the  coming  September  she  would  be  his  wife,  and  in 
that  most  beautiful  month  they  would  make  their  bridal 
tour. 

It  was  some  time  after  this  arrangement  had  been  made 
before  it  was  communicated  to  Willie ;  and  then,  although 
he  had  long  expected  such  a  result,  he  was  overwhelmed 
with  grief.  He  tried  to  labor  as  he  had  done  before  ;  but  he 
could  not,  for  there  was  no  courage  nor  ambition  in  his 
heart.  Mr.  Wyman  thought  that  his  health  was  failing, 
and  he  favored  him  all  that  he  desired.  Frequently,  while 
his  companions .  were  making  hay.  he  would  lie  upon  the 
ground  under  a  shady  tree,  his  face  in  his  hands,  thinking 
alone  of  Jeannie  :  of  what  she  had  been  to  him  —  how  she 
had  been  instrumental  in  rescuing  him  from  a  bondage  of 
cruelty  and  suffering  —  inviting  him  to  her  home,  teaching 
25 


290  GLENWOOD. 

him  self-respect  and  how  to  command  esteem  from  others  — 
how  she  had  taught  him  to  love  books,  kindly  imparting 
instruction,  until  he  had  become  a  good  English  scholar. 
And  he  felt  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  her,  he  should  still 
be  ignorant  and  despised,  and  perhaps  a  thief,  a  vile  cast- 
away. He  remembered  the  burning  touch  of  her  hand  — 
how  it  thrilled  to  his  soul  when  he  stood  a  poor  culprit 
before  her,  waiting  for  the  punishment  which  he  felt  was 
justly  his  due.  All  these  things,  and  many  more,  passed 
through  his  mind  over  and  over  again ;  and  the  tears  would 
gush  from  his  eyes,  burning  like  his  heart. 

The  nearer  the  dreaded  day  approached,  the  more  intense 
were  his  sufferings ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyman  were  alarmed 
for  his  health,  for  he  became  so  poor  and  pale,  rejecting 
his  food,  and  always  so  melancholy.  Jeannie  sometimes 
wondered  what  could  ail  him ;  but  preparing  for  her  bridal 
BO  much  occupied  her  mind,  she  had  few  thoughts  for  any- 
thing else. 

The  day  chosen  for  Jeannie's  wedding  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  tli.-.t  month  of  clear  skies  and  warm  sun- 
shine. Willie  was  an  early  riser,  but  on  that  morning 
breakfast  was  waiting,  and  he  had  not  made  his  appearance. 
Arthur  was  requested  to  call  him,  but  when  he  went  to  his 
room  he  was  not  there ;  and,  as  the  things  in  the  chamber 
wore  an  unusual  aspect,  he  opened  the  closet  door,  and  found 
that  nearly  all  his  clothes  were  gone. 

When  it  was  announced  to  the  family  that  Willie  had  so 
mysteriously  left  his  home,  they  were  much  surprised,  and 
they  feared  that  his  continued  illness  had  rendered  him 
partially  insane,  and  so  they  hoped  that  he  would  soon  re- 
turn. They  sought  for  him  with  care,  but  in  vain. 


GLENWOOD.  291 

Jeannie  had  always  felt  the  greatest  interest  in  Willie 
since  she  first  saw  him,  and  she  loved  him  dearly.  She 
regretted  that  he  should  leave  his  friends  so  strangely  —  that 
this  should  happen  upon  her  wedding-day.  The  thought  of 
him  caused  her  to  be  very  sad,  and  she  wept.  She  queried 
what  it  was  that  had  made  him  so  unhappy,  and  as  she 
thought  of  all  the  past,  she  was  fearful  that  it  might  be  love 
for  herself.  But  the  hour  was  rapidly  approaching  when 
she  would  promise  to  love  and  be  faithful  to  her  chosen 
husband  until  death  should  part  them,  and  so  she  dismissed 
the  thought. 

In  the  afternoon  a  large  company  assembled  to  witness 
the  marriage,  and  congratulate  the  happy  pair.  It  was  an 
occasion  of  joy  and  pleasure.  A  splendid  entertainment  had 
been  prepared ;  and  after  the  guests  had  partaken  of  the  feast 
they  rambled  through  the  gardens  and  fields,  or  sat  in  the 
grape-vine  arbor,  making  the  place  merry  with  laughter,  and 
musical  with  song.  It  was  an  occasion  that  one  never  for- 
gets ;  and  all  the  guests  enjoyed  it  richly.  Jeannie  looked 
very  beautiful  in  her  bridal  attire,  but  her  face  wore  a  half- 
sad  expression.  Perhaps  of  all  that  brilliant  company  she  was 
the  most  unhappy  ;  she  felt  condemned  that  it  was  so,  but 
she  could  not  help  it.  Her  thoughts  were  with  Willie,  they 
followed  him  in  his  wanderings  and  griefs,  and  she  felt  that 
she  would  give  half  the  world,  if  she  had  it,  if  he  were  only 
there  as  joyous  as  the  rest.  She  had  been  told  how  great 
was  the  love  between  his  mother  and  herself,  and  she  fancied 
that  she  could  remember  the  time  when  she  clung  to  her  neck, 
and  laid  her  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  looked  so  confidingly 
into  her  beautiful  face.  And  had  she  caused  the  child  of 
that  sorrowing  mother  to  leave  his  only  home,  and  go 


292  GLENWOOD. 

wandering  as  friendless  and  unhappy  as  the  one  who  bore 
him  ?  She  wished  that  he  was  there  to  give  her  the  assur- 
ance that  it  was  not  on  her  account  that  he  was  so  wretched. 
If  she  could  have  that  assurance  a  burthen  would  be  lifted 
from  her  heart. 

Does  the  reader  query  if  this  could  be  upon  her  wedding- 
day  ?  He  need  not,  for  it  is  often  so.  Frequently  are  the 
guests  joyous,  while  the  bride  or  bridegroom  is  wretched 
indeed.  Jeannie  vainly  sought  to  dispel  these  thoughts. 

And  might  there  not  have  been  a  spiritual  affinity  between 
these  two  souls,  and  thus  suffering  was  necessarily  the  result 
of  their  separation  ?  But,  alas  !  the  blow  was  given,  sever- 
ing the  nerves  of  affection,  which  recoiled  all  bleeding, 
causing  pain  at  the  heart. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Lund  and  his  bride  started  on  their 
wedding  tour,  journeying  for  many  weeks.  When  they 
returned  they  settled  down  in  Stetson,  living  with  his  aged 
parents. 

Mr.  Lund  was  educated  a  farmer,  and,  as  he  liked  the 
business  of  agriculture,  he  resolved  to  follow  it  through  life. 
His  parents  lived  but  a  few  years  longer ;  but,  before  they 
died,  they  gave  the  homestead  to  him,  dividing  the  other 
property,  which  was  considerable,  equally  between  him  and 
Emma. 

Mrs.  Lund  was  unhappy  upon  her  bridal-day.  Was 
she  happy  now  ?  Her  journey  with  her  husband  was  a  most 
delightful  one,  and  she  richly  enjoyed  it.  He  had  proved 
to  be  as  worthy  as  she  had  believed  him ;  always  gentle  and 
kind.  Yet  there  was  something  lacking,  and  it  grieved  her 
that  there  was.  She  felt  that  she  alone  was  at  fault.  In 
many  things  their  tastes  were  the  opposites,  and  her  feelings 


GLENWOOD.  293 

were  more  ardent,  her  affections  more  intense,  her  nature 
required  more  love,  than  his ;  she  did  not  know  it  before 
marriage,  and  she  was  sorry  to  know  it  now.  It  was  true 
that  she  was  not  quite  happy,  but  she  concealed  the  truth 
in  her  own  heart. 

When  a  little  daughter  was  laid  upon  her  bosom,  the 
shadows  which  had  marred  her  joys  all  fled.  She  named 
the  little  one  Carra,  after  her  sainted  mother ;  and  thankful 
•were  they  for  the  child,  for  it  brought  only  happiness. 
Before  Carra  had  seen  her  second  birth-day  a  son  was 
born,  and  to  him  was  given  his  father's  name,  Waldo. 
25* 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WHY  WILLIE   LEFT   SO   MYSTERIOUSLY. HIS  JOURNEY. FINDS   A   HOMB 

WITH   THE   PENLY8. 

THE  night  before  Jeannie's  wedding,  "Willie  felt  so  weary 
and  oppressed  that  he  retired  early,  and  tried  to  solace  his 
aching  heart  with  sleep ;  but  no  sleep  came.  He  sought  to 
fix  his  mind  upon  subjects  which  should  bring  oblivion  to 
his  senses,  and  draw  his  thoughts  away  from  her  who  was 
so  dear,  but  forever  lost  to  him.  His  efforts  were  all  in 
vain,  for  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  Jeannie.  It  did  not 
seem  right  that  she  should  marry ;  and  he  would  give  the 
world,  were  it  all  his  own,  if  she  might  be  his.  If  she 
would  only  have  waited  until  he  was  a  man,  she  would  then 
have  known  that  he  alone  had  a  right  to  her  heart  and  hand. 
He  believed  this ;  he  had  thought  of  it  for  hours  together, 
and  he  could  not  banish  the  thought  from  his  mind.  He 
queried  whether  she  would  be  quite  happy ;  he  hoped  she 
would,  for  he  loved  her  too  dearly  to  wish,  for  a  moment,  to 
see  her  wretched.  And  her  husband  —  he  desired  nothing 
but  blessings  for  him,  but  he  should  have  sought  elsewhere 
for  a  bride. 

No,  sleep  would  not  come  while  such  harrowing  thoughts 
were  passing  through  the  mind,  and  Willie  tossed  and 
tumbled  through  the  dreary  hours.  There  was  one  thing 


GLENWOOD.  295 

•which  he  dreaded  to  think  of,  and  yet  he  must  look  it  steadily 
in  the  face.  To  see  her  married  !  How  could  he  witness  a 
consummation  which  should  forever  blight  all  his  dearest 
hopes  ?  He  would  feign  sickness,  and  so  have  an  excuse  for 
absence.  But  that  seemed  not  right ;  and  then  he  must  lie 
there,  not  only  through  this  endless  night  of  unrest,  but 
through  all  the  dreary  hours  of  the  coming  day,  and  realize 
that  the  moment  was  approaching  when  she  would  be  a 
wedded  wife.  And  it  would  mar  the  pleasures  of  the  com- 
pany if  there  was  a  sick  one  in  the  house;  they  would  have 
to  be  careful  lest  in  their  mirth  and  rejoicing  they  should 
disturb  him.  He  could  suffer,  but  he  must  not  do  anything 
which  would  interfere  with  the  happiness  of  others. 

He  now  thought  of  the  future, —  how  desolate  would  that 
once  delightful  home  be  to  him  when  she  was  gone  !  Could 
he  be  happy  then  ?  Would  he  feel  contented  when  the  one 
that  made  that  home  so  beautiful  was  away  ?  He  could  not 
live  there,  he  was  sure  that  he  could  not.  He  had  agreed 
to  stay  until  he  was  eighteen ;  but  it  would  be  useless  to 
remain,  for  he  would  be  only  a  burthen.  He  would  go  away 
that  night,  forsake  this  home  so  dear,  and  among  strangers 
bury  his  sorrows  in  his  own  heart.  But  to  take  his  de- 
parture and  not  let  them  know  of  it !  Would  it  be  using 
such  kind  friends  aright?  He  was  fearful  that  it  was  all 
wrong,  but  go  he  must. 

At  twelve  o'clock  he  arose,  and,  taking  such  articles  of 
clothing  as  he  could  conveniently  carry,  he  stole  noiselessly 
down  stairs,  opened  the  front  door,  and  went  out.  When  he 
had  gone  a  few  rods  from  the  house,  he  turned,  retraced  hia 
steps,  and  leaned  his  head  against  the  door  and  wept.  And 
now  the  floods  of  memory  came  rushing  through  his  mind. 


296  GLENWOOD. 

x 

How  dear  had  been  the  home  he  was  forsaking,  and  all  its  in- 
mates ! — and  yet  he  must  give  it  up.  How  much  had  Jeannie 
done  for  him  !  but  —  so  he  breathed  a  hasty  prayer  for  those 
he  was  leaving  so  strangely,  and  went  on  his  way. 

It  was  a  pleasant  time  to  walk ;  for  the  heavens  were  clear, 
the  stars  bright,  and  the  air  was  neither  too  cold  nor  too 
warm.  But  Willie  was  not  strong,  and  so  he  made  only 
slow  progress.  His  thoughts  were  still  busy  with  the  past ; 
the  story  of  his  mother's  wanderings, — how  vividly  it  came 
back  to  his  mind  !  How  much  mo  re.  deplorable  had  been  her 
condition  at  that  dark  period  than  was  his  own  !  And  then 
the  thought  came,  and  he  shuddered  for  harboring  it,  that 
he  should  be  more  reconciled  if  Jeannie  were  in  heaven.  If 
she  were  dead  he  could  bear  to  think  of  her ;  but  now  he 
wished  that  oblivion  might  shut  her  out  of  his  soul  forever. 

By  the  time  the  sun  rose  he  was  twelve  miles  from 
Yamford,  and  within  eight  miles  of  Mr.  Penly's,  where  he 
resolved  to  seek  a  home  for  the  present  Mr.  Penly  was 
his  relative ;  and,  if  he  were  not,  he  knew  that  he  would  re- 
ceive him  kindly.  The  motherly  Mrs.  Penly,  and  the  girls, 
they  would  be  glad  to  see  him ;  and  very  happj  should  he 
be  to  see  them,  and  especially  the  roguish,  bright-eyed 
Hattie. 

He  was  now  so  weary  that  he  was  obliged  to  stop  fre- 
quently to  rest.  He  had  hoped  that  some  one  would  over- 
take him  with  a  carriage,  and  help  him  on  a  few  miles ;  but, 
as  August  had  been  very  rainy,  the  farmers  were  busy 
finishing  haying,  and  no  carriage  passed  him  on  the  way. 
In  hi«  anxiety  and  wretchedness,  he  had  not  thought  of 
food  before  starting  on  his  journey.  This  neglect  he  now 
sorely  regretted.  When  within  two  miles  of  Mi  PepJy's. 


GLEN  WOOD  297 

he  was  so  faint  and  weary  that  he  could  proceed  no  further 
without  a  longer  rest  than  he  had  before  allowed  himself  to 
take.  He  sought  for  a  pleasant  shade,  where  he  could  be 
concealed  if  people  passed  along  the  highway,  and  lay  down 
upon  the  soft  grass,  and  soon  fell  asleep.  On  awaking,  he 
was  surprised  to  see  how  low  the  sun  was.  As  he  was 
thinking  about  continuing  his  journey,  the  town-clock  of 
Felt-on,  where  lived  Mr.  Penly,  struck  the  hour  of  five ;  and 
then  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart  as  bitter  as  death,  for  he 
knew  that  that  was  the  appointed  time  for  Jeannie's  wedding. 
Burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  he  gave  way  for  a  few  min- 
utes to  the  agony  that  wrung  his  soul,  but,  realizing  that  it 
was  all  in  vain,  he  arose  and  went  on. 

When  he  arrived  at  Mr.  Penly's,  it  was  six  o'clock,  and 
the  family  were  at  tea.  Hattie  answered  his  summons  to 
the  door,  but  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  said  Willie,  offering  his  hand,  which 
she  took  somewhat  reluctantly.  "  Do  you  not  know  me, 
Hattie?" 

"  No,  sir ;  will  you  walk  in?  "  she  said. 

Mr.  Penly  immediately  arose  from  the  table. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Penly?  "  he  said,  shaking  hands 
with  him. 

"  How  d'  do;  but,  sakes  alive  !  I  don't  know  you  !  Why, 
who  can  you  be?  "  said  Mr.  Penly. 

"You  recognize  me,  do  you  not,  Mrs.  Penly? "said 
Willie. 

"  Well,  really,  now,  I  don't !  Can't  you  think  who  'tis, 
daddy?" 

"  I  can't  make  him  out;  though,  somehow,  he  seems  sort 
of  nat'ral,"  said  Mr.  Penly. 


298  'GLEN  WOOD. 

"  I  know,"  said  Sarah ;   "  it  is  Willie  Cunard  !  " 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  so  'tis.     Well,  now 
who  'd  a  thought  it  ?   I  shouldn't,  should  you,  old  woman  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  ;  he'd  passed  clean  out  of  my  mind,"  she  re- 
plied. And  now  there  was  a  renewal  of  shaking  hands, 
and  the  grasp  and  shake  were  as  hearty  as  Willie  could  de- 
sire,—  if  not,  indeed,  a  little  too  much  so,  as  weak  and  weary 
as  he  then  was. 

"  Set  right  down  to  the  table  with  us,"  said  Mr.  Penly, 
"for  we'd  jest  begun  to  wait  for  you  as  fast  as  we  could. 
How  kind  of  pindlin'  you  look !  You  have  grown  tall 
enormously,  but  you  an't  fat  a  bit ;  an'  you  are  too  pale  by 
half;  I  'spect  you  must  be  one  of  Phar'o's  lean  kind.  You 
jest  stay  with  me  a  few  months,  an'  I'd  put  the  flesh  on  to 
your  bones  for  ye  !  " 

"  Don't  you  mind  what  daddy  says,  for  he 's  always  run- 
ning on  in  just  that  are  way,"  said  Mrs.  Penly. 

"  Now,  Nancy,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  that  an't  fair,  for 
you  to  put  in  your  say-so,  to  spile  my  say-so ;  but  no 
matter.  Where  on  arth  have  you  been  all  this  time,  Willie  ? 
I  'd  'bout  made  up  my  mind  that  you  never  was  comin'  to 
see  us  agin." 

"I  have  been  living  with  Mr.  Wyman,"  said  Willie. 

"  Been  there  all  the  while?  "  said  Mr.  Penly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"Staid  a  long  time,  anyway;  'spect  you  liked  pooty 
well.  How  much  did  he  give  you  a  month?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Penly. 

"  I  did  not  work  by  the  month,"  said  Willie ;  "  but  staid 
until  I  was  fifteen,  for  board  and  clothes  and  schooling." 

"How  much  schooling?  "  said  Mrs.  Penly. 


GLENWOOD.  299 

"  Four  months  in  a  year,"  Willie  replied. 

"  That 's  doin'  pooty  well,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  if  you  take 
to  books  an'  larnin' ;  and  them  are  things  I  never  cared 
much  about.  But  wages  are  monstrous  high  now.  I  gin  a 
feller  of  your  age  nine  dollars  a  month,  an'  he  wilted  clean 
down  in  hayin'-time ;  gin  up,  an'  went  home.  But  where 
have  you  been  all  the  rest  of  the  time  ? ' ' 

"  When  I  was  fifteen,  I  made  another  arrangement  with 
Mr.  Wyman,"  said  Willie. 

"  Have  you  done  there  ?  "  inquired  Hattie. 

"I  have,"  said  Willie. 

"  It  strikes  me,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  that  you  are  con- 
siderable out  of  health,  an'  so  I  s'pose  you  can't  arnmuch; 
but  like  as  not  you  an'  I  can  make  a  bargain." 

After  Willie  had  retired  that  night,  he  thought  again  of 
the  clandestine  manner  in  which  he  left  Mr.  Wyman's,  and  he 
doubted  if  hiA  course  could  be  justified.  But  he  felt  sure 
that  he  could  not  have  remained  there  and  live.  It  was  two 
o'clock  before  he  fell  asleep,  and  when  he  awoke  the  gplden 
sunlight  was  streaming  into  his  window.  On  going  below,  he 
found  the  breakfast  waiting  for  him.  Mrs.  Penly  said  she 
should  have  called  him,  but  she  thought  she  'd  let  him  sleep 
as  long  as  he  would,  as  he  required  rest  more  than  anything 
else. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penly  told  ^Villie  that  he 
was  welcome  to  remain  with  them  as  long  as  he  was  con- 
tented. Their  kind  hospitality  was  gratefully  accepted,  and 
each  member  of  the  family  showed  him  so  much  considera- 
tion, so  earnestly  striving  to  make  him  comfortable  and  to 
feel  at  home,  that  he  was  more  happy  than  a  few  days  be- 
fore he  had  ever  hoped  to  be  again.  The  company  of  the 


300  GLEN  WOOD. 

bright-eyed  Hattie  was  particularly  pleasing  to  him.  She 
was  so  much  more  refined  than  her  parents,  so  witty  and 
intelligent,  that  her  presence  and  lively  sallies  charmed 
away  his  sorrows,  and  lifted  the  heavy  burthen  from  his 
heart.  He  was  some  time  in  doubt  whether  it  was  best  to 
inform  the  Penlys  of  the  relationship  existing  between  them. 
At  length  he  determined  to  do  so.  One  evening,  after  Mrs. 
Penly  had  remarked  to  Willie  that  he  did  not  seem  like  a 
stranger,  but  like  one  of  her  own  family,  he  said : 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  I  seem  so,  for  I  claim  some  relation- 
ship." 

"  You  do  !  "  said  Mr.  Penly ;  "I  thought  we  should  have 
to  own  ye,  yet."  9 

11  We  might  do  worse  than  that,  I  am  sure,"  said  Hattie. 

"  No  doubt  you  think  so,"  returned  Mr.  Penly.  "  Wai, 
Willie,  on  what  score  do  you  set  up  your  claim  to  'lation- 
ship?" 

"  On  the  old  score,"  he  replied,  "  of  course." 

"  An'  that  old  score,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  begins  'bout  the 
time  I  overtook  a  ragged  boy,  one  day,  an'  jest  gin  him  a 
small  lift." 

"Before  that,"  said  Willie. 

"You  don't  say  so  !  "  said  Mr.  Penly.  "How  do  you 
go  for  to  make  it  out?  " 

"  I  can  make  it  out  without  the  least  difficulty ;  but,  if 
you  should  refuse  to  acknowledge  me,  after  all,  it  would  not 
be  so  pleasant." 

"  So  'twould  n't,"  said  Mrs.  Penly.  "Lor,  if  I  don't 
begin  to  think  the  boy  is  half  in  arnest." 

"  He  does  squint  a  leetle  that  are  way,"  said  Mr.  Penly. 
"  Wai,  wal,  boy,  le's  have  it,  whether  in  joke  or  arnest." 


GLENWOOD.  301 

Willie  now  gave  them  the  desired  information.  -  The  story 
caused  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penly  to  say  "  sakes  alive  !  "  a  num- 
ber of  times.  When  he  had  finished,  Mr.  Penly  said : 

"Wai,  that  beats  all!  An'  so  you  are  a  'lation,  sure 
'nough  !  " 

"  0,  I  am  so  glad  !  "  said  Hattie. 

(<  So  am  I !  "  returned  Willie. 

"It  is  queer,"  said  Mr.  Penly v  "that  it  should  turn  out 
that  you  are  one  of  the  breed.  Now,  when  I  axed  ye  to 
ride,  that  are  day  I  overtook  ye,  I  had  n't  the  least  idee  you 
was  any  nearer  'lationship  than  that  of  old  Adam.  What 
a  lookin'  object  of  compassion  you  was  !  I  would  n't  have 
owned  ye  then  ;  but  I  will  now,  an'  be  proud  on  ye.  Why, 
them  are  rags  that  you  had  on  looked  as  though  they  was 
tired  a-holdin'  together,  an'  wanted  somebody  to  help  'em. 
An'  that  are  big  hat,  which  come  clean  down  over  your  eyes, 
e'enamost,  made  you  the  funniest-looking  critturout  of  jail. 
But  you  was  so  pale  an'  pindlin',  an'  walked  so  tired  like, 
that  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  pass  right  by  you,  when  I  had  a 
good  horse,  an'  nothin'  in  my  wagon ;  so  I  axed  you  to  git 
in,  an'  took  you  home,  an'  now  it  all  turns  out  that  you  are 
the  son  of  my  brother's  boy  that  was  drownded.  Now,  in 
takin'  you  in,  you  see,  I  was  jest  castin'  my  bread  upon  the 
waters,  an'  at  last  it  comes  back  in  the  shape  of  a  'lation. 
I  allus  thought  that  little  favors  like  them  are,  which  cost 
nobody  nothin',  was  sure  to  pay  well.  An'  so  that  old  poor- 
house  keeper  was  your  grandfather?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Willie. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  in  his  shoes,  'busin'  a  grand-child 
in  that  are  way.  I've  got  four  grand-children,  an'  the 
little  toddlin'  fellers  come  here  an'  stay  a  week  or  two  to  a 
26 


302  GLENWOOD, 

time  ;  an'  I  don't  see  much  difference  'tween  them  an'  my 
own  children.  You  see,  I  take  them  right  to  my  heart,  an' 
Nancy  does  too ;  an'  they  are  'bout  as  fond  of  us  as  of 
their  parents." 

"  He  did  not  know  that  I  was  his  grandchild,"  said  Wil- 
lie. 

"  I  s'pose  not,  hut  that  are  is  not  the  right  ground  to  go 
upon.  He  ought  to  treat* everybody  well,  an'  then  he'd  be 
sure  not  to  'buse  his  own.  Now,  if  I  hadn't  had  any  feel- 
ings, I  shouldn't  have  let  you  rode,  an'  my  old  woman 
would  n't  a  took  care  of  you  while  you  was  sick  ;  an'  then,  if 
we  'd  found  out  some  time  that  you  was  'lated  to  us,  we 
should  have  felt  mighty  mean.  Mr.  Gregg  has  got  to 
know  about  it;  for,  if  nobody  else  won't  tell  him,  I  will  go 
there  a  purpose." 

Willie  now  worked  a  little  every  day,  gradually  gaining 
in  strength ;  and  after  two  weeks  he  made  an  engagement 
to  remain  with  Mr.  Penly  until  the  next  spring.  In  labor- 
ing during  the  autumn,  and  attending  school  in  winter  in 
company  with  the  girls,  time  did  not  hang  so  heavily  upon 
his  hands  as  he  once  feared  that  it  might.  During  the  long 
winter  evenings,  the  hours  were  passed  in  studying,  playing 
fox  and  geese  and  checkers  with  Hattie,  and  sometimes  he 
read  a  pleasant  romance  aloud,  for  Willie  was  an  excellent 
reader  ;  and,  by  the  request  of  Mr.  Penly,  the  weekly  paper ; 
for  the  latter  said  that  his  eyes  were  failing  him,  and  then 
Willie  read  so  correctly  that  he  could  understand  it  a  great 
deal  better  than  when  he  read  it  himself. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

RECONCILIATION. WRITES   TO   THE  WYMANS. IMPROVEMENTS   ON   TH1 

FARM. NEW   BUSINESS. 

As  Mr.  Penly  became  greatly  attached  to  Willie  Cunard 
during  the  winter,  he  offered  him  two  hundred  dollars  to  re- 
main with  him  until  he  was  twenty-one,  which  Willie  gladly 
accepted.  He  was  a  sad-hearted  boy,  but  he  labored  hard, 
and  earnestly  sought  to  perform  every  duty  most  religiously ; 
and  so  he  became  more  cheerful  and  reconciled  than  he 
would  otherwise  have  been.  His  life  seemed  strange  and 
mysterious  to  him ;  but  he  Came  to  feel,  deep  down  in  his 
soul,  that,  in  the  hands  of  a  wise  Providence,  all  things  were 
ordered  for  the  best ;  and,  therefore,  he  would  not  repine, 
but  still  look  upward  with  trust,  still  keep  his  heart  strong 
and  pure. 

He  had  never  felt  justified  in  leaving  the  Wymans  as  he 
did ;  and,  after  long  deliberation,  he  wrote,  asking  forgive- 
ness, declaring  that  he  had  been  treated  while  under  their 
roof  like  an  own  child,  and  it  was  no  fault  of  theirs  that 
he  left  them  in  a  manner  which  seemed  so  unaccounta- 
ble. He  intended  no  wrong,  but  he  could  not  do  otherwise ; 
and  he  hoped  they  would  never  ask  him  the  reason  for  his 
strange  conduct. 

Mr.  Wyman  wrote,  in  reply,  a  kind,  fatherly  letter,  in 


304  GLENWOOD. 

which  he  assured  Willie  of  his  full  pardon,  and  closed  by 
inviting  him  •  to  his  house  whenever  he  should  feel  inclined 
to  visit  those  who  esteemed  and  loved  him.  He  did  not 
urge  him  to  come  immediately ;  for,  understanding  Willie  so 
well,  he  had  but  little  doubt  that  it  was  love  for  Jeannie 
which  caused  his  otherwise  inexplicable  conduct. 

This  letter  was  very  gratifying  to  Willie,  causing  him  to 
realize  that  he  had  faithful  friends  still ;  that  they  would 
overlook  his  faults,  and  freely  pardon  when  ignorance  or 
sorrow  made  him  to  swerve  from  the  straight  path  of  right. 
His  course  had  occasioned  them  the  most  intense  anxiety ; 
and  yet  they  loved  him,  and  wished  him  only  prosperity  and 
happiness. 

When  spring  work  commenced,  Willie  resolved  to  effect  a 
revolution  in  the  implements  of  agriculture.  Mr.  Penly 
was  one  of  the  old-fashioned  farmers,  who  did  everything  by 
the  hardest  and  most  unscientific  way.  All  his  implements 
of  husbandry  were  of  the  old,  antiquated  sort,  and  in  real- 
ity utterly  valueless,  excepting  what  they  might  bring  for 
old  metal,  or  be  worth  for  firewood.  Willie  had  served  an 
apprenticeship  with  a  man  who  had  adopted  all  the  modern 
improvements  for  rendering  labor  upon  a  farm  less  burden- 
some, and  the  land  more  productive.  Nothing  pleased  Wil- 
lie better  than  to  till  the  soil,  and  do  it  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  derive  from  it  the  most  bounteous  crops,  well  repaying 
the  laborer  for  his  toil.  It  was  exceedingly  irksome  to  use 
Mr.  Penly's  heavy,  awkward  tools.  His  ploughs  looked  as 
if  they  might  have  been  invented  before  the  flood,  or  soon 
after,  they  were  such  comical,  bungling  things  ;  and  they  did 
not  go  deep  enough  to  stir  those  portions  of  the  soil  which 
were  required  to  aid  the  plants,  or  allow  the  roots  to  strike 


GLENWOOD.  305 

down  to  a  sufficient  depth.  Willie  proposed  that  two  new 
ploughs  should  be  purchased.  Mr.  Penly  demurred  ;  he 
did  not  believe  in  the  new-fangled  notions  about  farming ; 
the  good  old  way  was  the  best ;  but  he  finally  yielded,  for 
Willie  agreed  to  deduct  their  cost  from  the  sum  he  was  to 
receive  when  his  time  had  expired,  if  Mr.  Penly  was  not 
perfectly  satisfied  ;  and  in  this  way  nearly  all  the  old  tools 
were  given  up,  and  new  ones  purchased. 

Mr.  Penly  was  astonished  when  he  saw  how  easily  the 
cattle  drew  the  new  ploughs,  when  they  cut  down  so  deep, 
and  he  felt  exceedingly  doubtful  whether  he  should  raise 
anything  with  so  much  of  the  yellow  earth  mixed  in  with 
the  dark  soil ;  the  latter,  he  thought,  alone  containing  the 
substances  required  for  vegetation.  They  did  not  differ 
much  in  planting,  but  when  they  came  to  "  hoe  "  there  was 
conflict  again.  Mr.  Penly  had  always  made  very  I  >rge, 
high  hills,  with  both  corn  and  potatoes,  the  second  time 
hoeing ;  while  Willie  contended  that  only  a  little  uarth 
thrown  over  the  roots  was  necessary.  This  innovation  Mr. 
Penly  stoutly  opposed.  However,  being  assured,  over  and 
Dver  again,  that  Mr.  Wyman  raised  the  best  of  crops,  he  re- 
luctantly consented  •  that  half  of  each  corn-field  should  be 
hoed  aa  Willie  thought  was  right,  and  the  other  half  Mr. 
Penly's  old  way.  The  latter  declared  that  he  could  not  hoe 
corn  by  tearing  the  hills  down,  instead  of  building  them  up. 
En  the  fall  he  was  candid  enough  to  confess  that  the  modern 
way  was  the  best.  He  came  to  regard  Willie  as  one  of  the 
wisest  and  most  promising  young  men  he  had  ever  kno*m  j 
and  so  new  improvements  were  continually  made,  old  wc/rn- 
out  lands  renovated,  the  marshes  drained,  and  at  last  tfoa 
iuildings  were  thoroughly  repaired. 
26* 


306  GLENWOOD. 

Hattie  had  never  had  such  a  flower-garden  as  she  wanted, 
but  Willie  was  very  glad  to  prepare  one  for  her,  and  many 
happy  hours  did  they  spend  there  together,  making  it  indeed 
beautiful ;  and  Mr.  Penly  called  it  the  "  Garden  of  Eden," 
which  only  stimulated  them  to  render  it  still  more  attractive. 
Willie  set  out  grape-vines,  for  the  purpose  of  having  an  ar- 
bor like  Mr.  Wyman's  ;  and  with  much  interest  did  he  and 
Hattie  watch  their  growth  from  year  to  year,  longing  for  the 
time  to  come  when  they  would  completely  cover  the  frame 
prepared  for  them,  making  a  cool  and  inviting  retreat.  They 
did  not  wait  in  vain,  for  in  due  time  the  arbor  became  as 
beautiful  as  one  could  wish.  '•*  > 

When  they  first  talked  of  having  an  arbor  in  their  garden, 
Mr.  Penly  called  it  nonsense,  and  said  that  he  never  knew 
a  grape-vine  to  grow  on  his  farm  —  the  soil  was  not  adapted 
to  grapes.  He  was  very  obstinate  about  some  things,  and 
so  he  pretended  not  to  notice  the  vines  which  were  growing^ 
so  luxuriantly  near  his  own  door. 

The  fourth  autumn  after  Willie's  engagement,  on  a  pleas- 
ant evening,  just  after  tea,  Willie  took  hold  of  one  arm  and 
Hattie  the  other,  and  led  him  out  to  see  the  arbor  in  the 
"  Garden  of  Eden." 

"This  is  pooty  wal,"  he  said,  "forcing  a  feller  agin  his 
will.  It 's  no  use  to  persist ;  for  I  'm  in  the  hands  of  two 
.Algeranes,  an'  go  I  s'pose  I  must." 

Under  the  pleasant  shade  of  the  vines  they  seated  Mr. 
Penly,  in  a  large  arm-chair,  made  after  the  style  of  Mr. 
Wyman's,  while  they  took  a  seat  on  the  sofa. 

"I  declare,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  this  beats  all  natur.  I 
'gin  to  think  that  ye  are  a  couple  of  wizards  to  make  sich  a 
pooty  place  as  this.  This  ere  chair  is  nice,  an'  terrible  easy 


GLENWOOD.  307 

to  set  in.  Who  'd  a  thought  it  ?  Wai,  Willie  Cunard, 
you  're  a  genus ;  and  I  expect  that  Hattie  —  ah  !  those  wicked 
eyes,  jest  as  sharp  as  needles  !  —  is  a  genus  too.  Now,  this  is 
the  pootiest  place  I  ever  seed,  in  all  my  born  days." 

"  You  like  it,  don't  you,  father  ?  "  said  Hattie. 

"  I  don't  see  as  I  can  very  well  help  it.  It 's  no  use  to 
stand  out  agin  the  truth ;  so  I  '11  give  right  in,  an'  own  up. 
I  do  like  it.  I  was  opposed  to  the  whole  projec'  at  fust,  but 
I  see  your  two  young  heads  are  wiser  than  this  old  cralium 
of  mine." 

"Willie's  time  is  almost  out,"  said  Hattie,  "and  I  have 
just  been  thinking  that  you  will  not  owe  him  much." 

"  An'  who  telled  you  to  think  'bout  that  are?  I  'spect 
you  'd  think  it  was  considerable  if  you  had  it  to  pay,"  said 
Mr.  Penly. 

"  But  there  is  so  much  to  take  out !  "  said  Hattie. 

"So  much  to  take  out?"  said  Mr.  Penly.  "I  don't 
know  of  any  thing  to  take  out.  What  shall  I  take  it  out  for  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Hattie.  "Two  ploughs,  three 
hoes,  two  pitchforks,  two  barnyard  shovels  and  fork,  and 
three  rakes." 

"You  imperdent  jade!"  said  Mr.  Penly;  "but  you 
,  han't  got  'em  all  yet." 

"  0,  yes,  I  have,  father,"  said  Hattie.  "  You  shan't  cheat 
Willie,  for  he  has  been  faithful.  I  heard  you  say  so  myself," 
—  pointing  her  finger  at  him. 

"  But  I  tell  ye  there  is  more  to  come  yet,"  said  Mr.  Penly. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Hattie. 

"A  harrer,"  he  replied. 

"Why,  father,"  said  Hattie,  "that  is  downright  cheat- 
ing!" 


GLEN  WO  OD. 

"  No  't  an't,  neither !  "  said  Mr.  Penly.  "  I  will  leave  it 
to  Willie,  if  't  an't  jest  'twas  agreed." 

"Your  father  is  correct,"  said  Willie  to  Hattie.  "  The 
harrow  was  one  of  the  implements  whose  cost  was  to  be  de- 
ducted from  my  two  hundred  dollars." 

"  Now  who  's  right,  miss,  me  or  you?  "  said  Mr.  Penly. 
"  I  didn't  want  a  harrer,  for  I  thought  the  old  one  good 
'nough,  an'  so  of  all  the  rest ;  but  I  have  had  to  give  in,  an' 
I  'm  pleased  with  all  you  've  done,  Willie,  an',  'stead  of  takin' 
out  anything,  I  shall  make  you  a  handsome  present.  I 
reckoned  there  could  n't  be  anything  equal  to  them  old  tools 
of  mine  ;  but  the  new  ones  are  so  light  and  pooty,  that  you 
can  work  with  'em  as  easy  agin.  You  are  the  best  farmer, 
Willie,  that  I  ever  seed." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  said  Willie.  "If  I 
have  been  the  means  of  improving  your  land  and  the  manner 
of  cultivating  it,  causing  it  to  produce  larger  crops  with  less 
labor,  I  am  very  thankful.  I  love  to  work  on  the  land,  and 
I  have  no  greater  ambition  than  to  be  a  good  practical 
farmer." 

"  Well  said,  my  boy  !  "  remarked  Mr.  Penly;  "  I  hope 
you  '11  allus  be  a  tiller  of  the  soil,  for  you  can  make  yerself 
happy  and  inderpendent." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  Willie ;  "  but  when  my  time  ex- 
pires with  you,  I  mean  to  try  a  different  business  for  a  sea- 
son, for  I  have  a  strong  desire  to  see  more  of  the  world." 

"  I  '11  warrant  ye  ! "  said  Mr.  Penly.  "  I  presume  you  '11 
never  be  satisfied  unless  you  know ''bout  all  there  is  to  larn. 
Now,  I  don't  care  nothin'  't  all  'bout  knowin'  any  more  of 
the  country  and  cities.  I  've  never  been  to  Bostin  but 
once,  an'  I  never  want  to  go  agin.  How  folks  can  live  there, 


GLENWOOD.  309 

in  all  that  are  confusion  and  noise,  I  can't  make  out ;  an' 
what  they  all  find  to  live  on  is  a  puzzle  to  me.  I  staid  there 
two  nights,  and  scarcely  slept  a  wink,  there  was  sich  a  con- 
founded noise  and  clatter ;  an'  they  were  hollerin'  fire  'bout 
half  the  night.  I  'd  just  as  leave  live  in  Bedlam  !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  go  there,"  said  Hattie. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "  for  you  allus  want 
to  be  goin'  somewhere.  But  I  tell  ye  what  't  is,  the  city  is 
nothin'  to  the  country.  What  is  great  brick  buildin's,  and 
streets  stuck  full  of  cobble-stones,  to  nice,  clean,  green  fields, 
the  grass  an'  flowers  all  a  glis'nin'  an'  sparklin'  in  the 
beams  of  the  god  of  day  ?  What  is  all  them  are  shops,  a 
flauntin'  with  silks  an'  finery,  in  comparison  to  the  trees 
with  the  pooty  leaves  all  cut  out  an'  shaped  so  handsome  by 
the  Lord,  an'  hangin'  so  elegant  from  all  them  are  little 
twigs  and  boughs,  an'  coverin'  'em  all  over,  an'  lookin'  so 
nice  all  summer  long  ?  There  they  stand,  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der, a  good  deal  handsomer  an'  more  majesty  than  a  army 
of  sogers.  I  allus  did  like  to  look  at  the  noddin'  groves,  and 
compose  myself  under  the  green  branches.  The  city — what 
is  it?  Nothin'  'tall  to  be  compared  with  'em.  It  is  all 
brick  houses,  rattle-te-bang,  dirt,  and  confusion  !  " 

"You  formed  a  very  unfavorable  opinion  of  the  city," 
said  Willie ;  ' '  but  you  did  not  stay  long,  and  so  I  suppose 
you  cannot  judge  so  well  or  so  correctly  as  you  otherwise 
might." 

"  I  staid  long;nough,  an'  larnt  all  I  wanted  to.  Such  a 
stived-up  place  would  never  do  for  me,  nohow.  I  want  room 
to  breathe  and  turn  round  in,  an'  you  can't  find  it  there." 

"  I  've  heard  that  they  have  a  beautiful  Common  in  Bos- 
ton," said  Hattie. 


310  GLENWOOD. 

"  I  presume  they  have,"  replied  Mr.  Penly ;  "  but  it  can't 
be  much  of  a  place,  for  they  han't  got  no  room  for  it,  as  I 
could  see ;  but,  sakes  alive  !  what 's  a  few  acres,  sot  out  with 
trees,  in  comparison  to  the  whole  country  ?  Don't  talk  to 
me  'bout  Bostin  !  for  I  was  n't  taken  with  it  at  all,  an'  I 
never  should  be,  if  I  lived  there  a  thousand  years." 

The  next  spring  Willie's  time  expired,  and  then  he  en- 
gaged himself  as  a  travelling  book-agent.  So  great  had  been 
the  improvements  on  Mr.  Penly's  farm,  through  his  instru- 
mentality, that  his  employer  added  fifty  dollars  to  the  sum 
agreed  upon  ;  and  very  sad  were  they  all  when  Willie  bade 
them  good-by. 

"  Don't  forget  us,"  said  Mrs.  Penly,  "  for  we  shall  never 
forget  you ;  for  you  seem  more  like  a  son  than  anything 
else." 

"  That  you  do,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "an'  you  've  acted  more 
like  one ;  so  God  bless  you  !  " 

Willie  shook  their  hands  heartily,  as  the  stage  stopped  be- 
fore the  door,  kissed  Sarah  and  Hattie,  and,  taking  a  seat 
with  the  driver,  was  borne  swiftly  away. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MRS.    LUND    IN   AFFLICTION  MEETING    OF     OLD   FRIENDS. THE    TREAT- 
MENT  DUE   TO    ALL. 

SOME  five  years  have  passed  away  since  Jeannie  Wy- 
man's  marriage ;  and  twice  has  the  hand  of  affliction  been  laid 
heavily  upon  her.  Sickness  came,  and  death  soon  followed ; 
and  the  father  of  her  children  was  borne  to  the  silent 
grave. 

A  few  months  after  the  death  of  Mr.  Lund,  little  Carra 
was  laid  by  his  side.  She  had  never  been  a  healthy  child, 
and  so  deep  and  absorbing  was  her  love  for  her  father,  that 
she  seemed  to  waste  away  with  grief  at  his  loss.  She 
was  only  four  years  old  when  he  died,  and  her  mother  fondly 
hoped  that  she  would  forget  her  sorrow ;  but  her  thoughts 
could  not  be  won  from  him,  and  so  the  strong  cords  of  love 
which  were  intertwined  with  his  soul  soon  drew  her  up  to 
heaven. 

This  last  bereavement  laid  Mrs.  Lund  upon  a  sick  bed 
for  many  weeks ;  and,  after  she  began  to  amend,  her  physi- 
cian arid  friends  were  doubtful  of  the  result,  she  gained 
strength  so  slowly.  She  was  too  heart-weary  to  rapidly 
recover  her  health.  Her  spirit  was  bleeding  for  her  lost 
ones.  Hour  after  hour  would  she  sit  and  weep  ;  an3  it  was 
in  vain  she  was  told  that  she  must  restrain  her  tears, 


t>12  GLENWOOD. 

and  be  resigned  to  the  allotments  of  Providence,  or  she  too 
would  die.  Her  kind  father  came  often,  and  endeavored 
to  revive  her  drooping  spirits,  and  teach  her  reconciliation ; 
urging  her,  as  soon  as  she  was  strong  enough  to  ride,  to  go 
with  him  to  the  cottage,  and  henceforth  make  it  her  home. 
He  bade  her  remember  little  Waldo,  and  for  his  sake  try  to 
be  more  cheerful,  and  seek  to  regain  her  lost  health. 

Mrs  Lund  felt  that,  if  her  own  mother  were  alive,  she 
would  quickly  return  home,  nor  wish  to  leave  it  again  ;  but 
things  seemed  so  different  there  now,  that  she  could  not  be 
happy  ;  and,  then,  her  mother-in-law  had  two  little  children 
of  her  own,  and  to  have  another  child  under  the  same  roof 
might  cause  trouble.  She  told  her  father  that  when  she 
was  sufficiently  well  she  would  make  them  a  long  visit,  but 
she  could  not  give  up  her  home,  or  exchange  it  for  another ; 
she  should  be  happier  to  remain  where  she  was. 

A  very  beautiful  boy  was  Waldo.  He  was  now  nearly  three 
years  old,  and  large  and  forward  of  his  age.  His  hair  was 
light,  forehead  broad  and  high,  his  skin  very  white,  and  his 
face  beautifully  formed,  dimpled,  and  full  of  expression, 
while  his  eyes  were  dark-gray,  clear,  and  beaming.  He  was 
an  interesting,  winning  child,  and  wherever  he  went  he 
attracted  much  attention,  and  the  ladies  were  not  satisfied 
without  a  kiss. 

It  was  by  no  means  surprising  that  Mrs.  Lund's  heart 
was  all  bound  up  in  this  boy.  In  the  midst  of  her  great 
afflictions,  he  seemed  to  her  more  than  all  the  world  besides. 
When  she  was  convalescent,  he  would  come  and  sit  in  her 
lap,  and  lay  his  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  while  she  ca- 
ressed him  and  pressed  him  to  her  heart,  she  would  say, 
"  We  are  but  two,  Wallie!  " 


QLENWOOD.  313 

One  pleasant  afternoon,  as  she  was  lying  upon  the  sofa, 
feeling  unusually  unhappy,  her  thoughts  turned  to  Willie 
Cunard,  and  she  earnestly  wished  to  see  him  once  more. 
She  had  loved  him  as  dearly  as  she  had  ever  loved  a  brother, 
and  it  seemed  very  strange  that  he  should  leave  her  on  her 
marriage  day,  and  never  write  to  her  or  come  to  see  her  at 
all.  She  felt  that  she  should  be  happier  could  she  see  him 
again.  Her  father  had  informed  her  that  Willie  had 
written  to  him  every  year,  and  that  he  was  living  with  Mr. 
Penly  in  Felton;  but  he  had  never  been  to  the  cottage 
since  he  so  mysteriously  left  it.  She  thought  that  she 
would  write  to  him,  and,  for  the  sake  of  their  old  friendship, 
he  would  certainly  reply.  While  these  thoughts  were  pass- 
ing through  her  mind,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
when  Lucy  Packard,  the  domestic,  opened  it,  a  young  man 
informed  her  that  he  was  canvassing  for  an  interesting  book. 

"  Is  the  gentleman  of  the  house  within  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  The  gentleman  is  not  living,"  said  Lucy. 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  lady,  then,"  he  said. 

"  She  is  very  fond  of  books,  and  usually  purchases  when 
those  of  an  interesting  character  are  brought  along  ;  but  she 
is  too  unwell  now,  sir,  to  see  you." 

"  She  is  too  sick,  then,  to  see  company  ?  " 

"  She  receives  her  friends,  but  not  strangers,  or  people 
on  business." 

"I  regret  it,  for  her  sake  and  for  my  own.  Excuse  me 
for  the  trouble  I  have  caused  you.  Good-afternoon." 

The  door  which  led  from  the  entry  into  Mrs.   Lund'i 

room  stood  open  at  the  time,  and  she  heard  the  converts- 

tion.     The  tones  of  the  stranger's  voice  struck  a  chord  in 

her  heart  which  had  not  been  touched  for  a  long  time  be- 

27 


814  GLENWOOD. 

fore.  She  arose  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  gazed  at 
him  as  he  went  up  the  road.  Just  then  he  turned  his  head 
and  looked  back,  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face. 

"It  must  be  he,"  she  said  to  herself;  "and  yet  I  may  be 
mistaken.  The  voice  sounded  like  his,  and  the  face  had  his 
expression.  He  is  so  much  larger !  But,  then,  five  years 
have  passed  away  since  I  saw  him,  and  he  should  be  larger, 
and  his  personal  appearance  much  changed.  0  !  should  it 
be  he,  and  I  not  see  him,  when  I  so  yearn  for  an  old  friend  ! 
Lucy,  run  out  and  call  the  gentleman  back,  and  tell  him 
that  I  should  like  to  look  at  his  books." 

Lucy  had  to  scream  at  the  top  of  her  voice  before  she 
could  make  the  book-agent  hear  her.  He  gladly  retraced 
his  steps,  for  he  was  exceedingly  weary,  not  having  obtained 
one  subscriber  all  that  day ;  and  he  felt  disheartened,  as  he 
often  did.  Mrs.  Lund  sat  down  upon  the  sofa,  her  heart 
beating  audibly. 

If  it  should  be  Willie,  would  he  be  glad  to  see  her  once 
more  ?  Would  he  seem  as  he  did  when  they  both  lived 
under  the  same  roof?  But,  if  he  should  prove  a  stranger, 
the  disappointment  would  be  very  bitter.  Her  crushed, 
bleeding  heart,  so  lonely  in  its  bereavement,  felt  that  it 
must  be  Willie,  and  that  he  would  bring  her  consolation. 

The  domestic  ushered  in  the  stranger  where  sat  Mrs. 
Lund,  with  her  eyes  bent  upon  the  floor,  not  daring  for  the 
moment  to  lift  them  up.  As  soon  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  her, 
he  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  there  was  a  strange  emotion  at 
his  heart.  But  she  had  changed ;  sickness  and  trouble  had 
dimmed  her  eyes,  paled  her  cheeks,  and  made  them  very 
sunken,  and  the  joyous  expression  had  departed ;  and  so  he 
did  not  know  her.  But  when  she  lifted  those  eyes,  and  re- 


GLENWOOD.  316 

alized  that  she  was  not  mistaken,  the  old  light  came  hack, 
and  the  flush  sprang  to  her  cheeks ;  and  then  he  realized  that 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  the  one  he  had  so  dearly  loved. 
He  knew  not  what  to  do,  and  queried  if  she  recognized  him 
—  if  she  would  be  glad  to  renew  their  acquaintance,  and 
receive  him  as  her  friend.  Mrs.  Lund  arose  from  the  sofa, 
and  gazed  earnestly  into  his  face,  while  he  looked  as  search- 
ingly  into  hers.  She  was  much  agitated,  and  she  said,  in  a 
tone  that  spoke  volumes,  "  Willie  !  "  The  utterance  of* 
that  simple  word  thrilled  his  whole  soul,  and  in  unison  he 
exclaimed,  "Jeannie!"  In  another  moment  they  were 
locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  excitement  of  this  meeting  completely  exhausted 
Mrs.  Lund,  and  so  Willie  lifted  her  as  though  she  had  been 
a  little  child,  and  laid  her  gently  down  upon  the  sofa.  In 
a  few  moments  she  recovered  and  sat  up  ;  Willie  sat  by  her 
side,  with  one  of  her  poor,  pale  hands  pressed  closely  in 
his.  How  glad  he  was  to  hold  that  dear  hand  again,  to  feel 
that  burning  touch  thrill  to  his  heart  as  of  yore  ! 

"  You  look  very  ill,"  said  Willie,  sorrowfully,  "  very, 
indeed.  Are  you  better  than  you  were  ?" 

"Yes,  Willie,"  she  replied.  "But  I  have  been  greatly 
afflicted.  Mr.  Lund  died  some  months  ago,  and  my  eldest, 
my  sweet  little  Carra,  soon  followed  her  father ;  and  then  I 
was  almost  heart-broken.  0,  Willie !  I  am  so  glad  you 
have  come  !  I  was  thinking  of  you  when  you  rapped  at 
the  door,  and  that  I  would  write  to  you  at  Felton,  hoping 
that  you  had  not  quite  forgotten  me,  and  that  you  would 
come  and  see  me,  or  answer  by  letter." 

"  I  am  as  rejoiced  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Lund." 

"  0  !  don't  call  me  Mrs.  Lund  !   it  seems  so  cold  from 


316  GLENWOOD. 

you  !  I  have  called  you  Willie,  as  I  used  to.  Must  I  say 
Mr.  Cunard? 

"No,  Jeannie,  no.  Call  ine  Willie  always,  and  I  will 
gladly  call  you  Jeannie;  for  then  it  will  seem  as  it  did 
long,  long  ago  !  Yes,  I  am  as  glad  to  see  you  again  as  you 
can  be  to  see  me.  Did  you  know  me  when  I  came  to  the 
door?" 

"  Most  likely  I  should  if  I  had  seen  your  face  ;  but  I  only 
heard  your  voice,  and,  though  it  has  changed  somewhat,  there 
was  something  in  the  tone  which  awoke  old  memories.  I  was 
lying  here  very  sad  indeed,  and  as  you  walked  away  I  arose 
and  went  to  the  window.  When  you  turned  your  head  and 
looked  this  way,  I  thought  it  might  be  you,  and  I  quickly 
told  Lucy  to  call  you  back.  I  am  so  glad  now  that  I  did, 
for  I  am  sure  that  you  are  glad  to  see  me  again  !  " 

"  Yes,  Jeannie,  I  am  very  glad;  but  I  am  sorry  to  find 
you  in  such  ill  health.  At  first  I  was  fearful  that  you  were 
in  a  consumption,  and  would  pass  away  as  your  mother  did. 
What  a  blessed  woman  she  was,  making  home  like  heaven ! 
and  heaven  has  rightly  claimed  its  own." 

"  Yes,  Willie,  my  mother  was  an  excellent  woman,  though 
I  do  say  it ;  and  she  has  only  changed  worlds,  the  dear  one  ! 
My  husband  and  Carra  are  with  her,  and  your  mother,  Wil- 
lie, and  our  other  friends.  0,  they  are  happy  there  !  You 
need  not  feel  anxious  about  me,  Willie,  for  I  am  much  bet- 
ter than  I  was." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  you  say  it.     Have  you  a  cough  ?  " 

"  I  only  cough  now  and  then ;  but  it  is  much  better,  and 
it  will  soon  be  entirely  gone." 

"  I  hope  so,  for  it  would  be  bitter  indeed  to  lose  you,  now 
that  we  have  met  again.  I  hope  you  will  be  more  cheerful 


GLENWOOD. 

hereafter,  and  be  reconciled  to  the  wise  allotments  of  Provi- 
dence." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  ;  but  I  am  still  very  weak.  You  came 
here,  Willie,  on  business,  and  found  me  by  accident  I  think, 
however,  that  I  must  persuade  you  to  remain  a  while,  and 
then  I  shall  not  be  so  lonely,  nor  feel  so  disheartened.  It 
will  not  be  necessary  for  you  to  leave  immediately,  will  it?" 

"  No,  Jeannie,  my  business  is  by  no  means  urgent. 

"  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  be  content  to  make  me  a  long 
visit.  Pardon  me  if  I  seem  over-anxious  to  have  you  remain. 
I  am  a  mere  child,  now,  and  I  need  a  friend  very  much." 

"  If  I  can  add  to  your  happiness  in  the  least,  Jeannie,  my 
visit  will  give  me  much  pleasure." 

"  You  need  not  doubt  that  at  all.  My  relatives  come  to 
see  me  often ;  but  none  of  them  can  very  well  be  spared  from 
home,  to  remain  with  me  as  constantly  as  I  desire.  I  have 
three  in  my  family,  besides  myself  and  child, —  Lucy,  my 
domestic,  and  a  man  and  boy  to  carry  on  the  farm.  They 
are  good  people ;  but  their  feelings  and  sympathies  are  not 
in  harmony  with  my  own.  I  should  be  lonely  with  a  thou- 
sand such.  Waldo  is  my  greatest  comfort ;  but  he  reminds 
me  of  his  father  and  dear  little  Cai-ra." 

"  Then  you  have  one  child  left  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  such  a  precious  child  he  is,  too  !  I  know  you 
will  love  him  dearly,  for  he  is  so  handsome  and  interesting." 

"  Is  Arthur  at  home  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  he  is  married  ;  and  father  has  bought  him  a  farm  a 
few  miles  from  the  cottage.     He  was  young  to  marry,  so  we 
all  thought,  but  older  than  I  was  when  I  married.     You 
are  not  married,  are  you,  Willie  ?  " 
27* 


318  GLENWOOD. 

"  No,  Jeannie,  and  I  have  not  thought  that  I  ever  should 
be." 

"  And  so  you  are  a  book-agent !  How  came  you  to  choose 
that  occupation  ?  I  thought  you  were  at  work  on  a  farm  in 
Felton." 

"  I  was,  until  last  spring ;  but  I  wanted  to  see  more  of  the 
world ;  and  so  I  chose  this  business,  that  I  might  travel  over 
the  country  and  become  better  acquainted  with  human 
nature." 

"  Have  you  had  good  success  ?  " 

"  Generally;  but  to-day  I  have  done  just  nothing." 

"You  have  found  an  old  friend,  though,  and  I  am  sure 
that  is  something." 

"  Yes,  Jeannie,  it  is.  I  do  not  regard  the  day  as  lost 
now,  for  I  am  so  happy  to  see  you  again." 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  hear  you  say  that,  my  friend,  very  pleas- 
ant. How  do  you  like  your  present  employment?  " 

"  Not  very  well.  You  have  to  deal  with  all  sorts  of  peo- 
ple ;  and  some  treat  you  with  respect,  while  others  are  ex- 
ceedingly boorish.  You  are  aware  that  I  am  sensitive.  I 
have  often  had  my  feelings  very  much  injured." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  and,  knowing  you  so  well,  I  was  some- 
what surprised  that  you  should  engage  in  such  business. 
Doubtless  it  is  a  good  school  for  any  one,  if  sufficient  com- 
mand is  maintained  over  one's  feelings.  I  am  acquainted 
with  a  man  who  was  an  agent  for  a  number  of  years,  on  ac- 
count of  poor  health,  and  it  made  him  irritable.  People 
were  frequently  unkind,  and  said  very  saucy  things,  when  he, 
becoming  excited,  as  invalids  are  very  apt  to  do,  was  as 
saucy  to  them  as  they  were  to  him.  He  finally  gave  up  the 
business,  lest  it  should  entirely  ruin  his  disposition." 


GLBNWOOD.  319 

"  That  such  should  be  the  effect,  when  a  person  is  out  of 
health,  is  by  no  means  surprising.  I  have  found  it  a  diffi- 
cult thing,  at  times,  to  control  my  feelings,  and  it  may  be 
that  I  have  given  utterance  to  words  of  severity,  for  I  havfc 
learned  that  I  am  capable  of  it.  There  are  many  things  to 
irritate  one.  People  will  sign  for  a  book,  and  when  you 
carry  it  to  them  they  will  often  deny  that  they  did  sign.  I 
have  found  very  many  such,  and  it  has  taught  me  wisdom. 
I  used  to  write  down  the  names  myself,  but  now  I  make 
them  do  it,  and  in  that  way  save  much  trouble.  People  are 
exceedingly  forgetful ;  they  will  agree  to  take  a  book  and 
forget  all  about  it  in  less  than  a  month,  but  they  have  to  give 
up  when  they  see  their  own  signature." 

"Do  they  ever  refuse  to  take  a  book,  after  they  have 
signed  for  it?  " 

"  Very  often,  and  they  have  many  excuses  in  extenuation 
of  breaking  their  agreement.  They  have  been  sick,  or  some 
one  has  failed  and  they  lost  all  he  owed  them,  or  the  book  is 
different  from  what  they  thought  it  was,  or  something  which 
they  did  not  expect  has  occurred,  and  they  cannot  possibly 
obtain  the  money.  With  some,  you  are  a  few  days  or  weeks 
too  late,  and  so  they  are  under  no  obligations.  They  are  ex- 
ceedingly positive,  and  mention  others  who  have  said  the 
same,  that  you  agreed  to  come  on  a  certain  day,  or  during  a 
certain  week,  or  month,  although  you  told  them  that  you 
could  not  set  the  time,  for,  if  you  did,  circumstances  beyond 
your  control  might  prevent  your  coming.  The  most  of  these 
excuses  are  manufactured  for  the  occasion." 

"  But  some  are  honest,  and  speak  the  truth,  who  wish  to 
be  excused?" 

"  Certainly ;  but  even  they  do  not  pursue  the  right  course 


320  GLENWOOD. 

to  procure  a  release.  Instead  of  asking  you  to  excuse  them, 
or  proposing  to  give  you  the  profit  on  the  book,  they  very 
coolly  inform  you  that  they  have  concluded  not  to  take  it, 
as  though  there  was  no  sort  of  obligation  on  their  part.  If 
you  remonstrate,  why,  they  had  no  idea  that  they  were  bound 
to  fulfil  such  an  agreement ;  they  thought  you  wanted  as 
many  names  as  you  could  get,  so  that  others  might  be  influ- 
enced to  subscribe." 

"  Such  things  must  be  annoying;  and,  unless  one  is  ex- 
ceedingly watchful,  prove  very  injurious." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,  and  I  have  resolved  not  to  follow  the 
business  much  longer.  I  had  rather  labor  on  a  farm  for 
wages,  although  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  have  a  farm 
of  my  own." 

"  I  wish  you  had  a  farm  of  your  own,  Willie,  and  I  doubt 
not  you  will  have  one  in  due  time.  I  have  a  most  excellent 
farm  here,  but  I  fear  that  some  things  are  sadly  neglected." 

"Most  likely,  for  agricultural  business  is  seldom  done  as 
it  should  be,  unless  the  owner  of  the  soil  understands  it,  and 
gives  it  his  personal  attention  from  day  to  day.  The  Penlys 
give  me  the  credit  of  being  a  superior  agriculturist ;  and, 
though  I  don't  claim  so  much,  yet  I  am  conscious  of  being 
as  good  a  farmer  as  they  average.  I  am  to  make  you  a  long 
visit,  you  say  ?  Now,  labor  on  a  farm  is  what  I  like,  and 
you  shall  make  me  chief  overseer  while  I  remain." 

"  I  will  do  so  very  gladly,  and  resign  all  my  cares  and 
the  whole  management  into  your  hands ;  and  then  all  I  shall 
have  to  do  will  be  to  make  myself  cheerful,  and  in  due  time 
I  may  regain  my  health." 

"I  shall  not  allow  you  to  remain  sick  long,  if  I  stay. 
I  want  to  see  you  look  as  healthy  and  cheerful  as  you  did 


GLEN  WOOD.  321 

when  I  first  knew  you.  The  roses  have  fled  from  your 
cheeks,  but  they  must  be  summoned  back  again ;  not  tran- 
sient ones,  like  those  of  just  now,  but  those  of  old,  which 
bloomed  perpetually ;  and  there  must  be  a  steadier  light  to 
your  eyes." 

"  Now  that  you  are  here  to  relieve  me  of  care,  I  hope  that 
health  may  return  to  me ;  though  I  fear  that  the  roses  will 
never  be  very  bright." 

"As  bright  as  desirable,  perhaps.  You  never  had  very 
red  cheeks ;  but  they  were  as  red  as  I  like  to  see.  My 
business  is  such  that  I  cannot  remain  any  great  length  of 
time  with  you  now,  even  should  you  wish  it.  I  have  a  few 
hundred  subscribers  whom  I  must  supply,  according  to 
agreement ;  but,  when  I  have  supplied  them,  I  shall  most 
likely  close  up  my  book-agency  forever,  for  I  am  tired  of 
it." 

"  I  see  that  you  are.  But  you  must  not  think  too  meanly 
of  human  nature  because  you  have  met  with  dishonesty  and 
unkindness.  Publishers  and  agents  have  quite  too  often 
imposed  upon  the  public,  giving  promises  which  they  never 
fulfilled,  charging  double  what  their  works  were  worth,  and 
by  such  means  making  people  distrustful  of  all  book-agents, 
good  and  bad ;  and  so  the  innocent  suffer  as  well  as  the 
guilty." 

"  All  that  is  very  true ;  but  the  best  way  is  to  treat  every- 
body well.  It  is  some  trouble  to  go  to  the  door,  but  when 
there  it  is  as  easy  to  speak  kindly  to  the  caller  as  it  is  to 
insult  him,  and  far  more  so  in  my  estimation." 

"Your  remarks  are  just,  and  I  wish  that  all  could  see 
them  in  the  same  light  that  we  do.  Much  is  said  about  the 
government  of  the  tongue,  and  appropriately  said ;  but,  l«t  a 


322  GLENWOOD. 

spirit  of  good  will  to  all  men  be  cultivated,  and  then  the 
spoken  words  will  be  fragrant  with  love.  Some  who  are 
engaged  as  agents  and  pedlers  are  so  out  of  health  that  they 
are  unfitted  for  hard  labor.  Such  have  spent  the  night  with 
us,  and  there  is  one  who  is  ever  welcomed  as  a  friend." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  treat  people  well,  Jeannie.  I 
remember  a  certain  poor-house  boy — 0!  you  have  no  idea 
how  blessed  was  your  usage  and  influence  for  his  good ;  how 
the  clouds  rolled  away,  letting  down  upon  him  the  clear  light 
)f  heaven." 

"I  understood  you,  Willie,  as  soon  as  I  saw  you;  and  I 
resolved  to  make  you  happier,  and  give  you  a  larger  faith. 
I  succeeded,  I  doubt  not,  and  it  cost  me  but  little  effort. 
That  you  loved  me  for  it  I  never  doubted  but  once  —  " 

"  But  once?" 

"  Perhaps  I  should  say  that  I  never  doubted  until  a 
certain  day." 

"  The  day  that  you  were  married  ?  " 

"Yes,  Willie." 

"  And  did  you  really  doubt  me  then? " 

"  I  scarcely  know;  for  I  found  it  extremely  difficult  to 
analyze  my  feelings.  Your  absence  seemed  unaccountable, 
and  made  me  very  unhappy.  A  variety  of  thoughts  passed 
through  my  mind,  and  many  strange  conjectures.  I  felt 
that,  whatever  might  be  the  nature  of  the  cause  that  led  you 
to  take  the  step,  still  you  were  not  to  be  justified." 

"  I  have  often  thought  so  myself,  Jeannie ;  for,  of  all  per- 
sons in  the  wide  world,  I  should  not  have  made  you  unhappy 
on  your  wedding  day." 

"But  you  did,  Willie." 

"  I  was  but  a  foolish  boy ;  —  you  have  forgiven  me  ?  " 


QLENWOOD.  328 

"Most  freely;  although  your  continued  absence,  with 
never  one  letter  to  your  friend  Jeannie,  has  caused  me 
many,  very  many,  sad  hours." 

"I  do  regret  it;  and  I  fear  my  course  has  been  all 
wrong." 

"  Your  continued  illness  and  low  spirits  gave  me  many 
anxious  moments,  before  you  left  us;  and,  after  that,  my 
anxiety  was  at  times  painfully  intense.  But  don't  look  so 
ead  about  it,  for  we  have  met  again,  as  happy  to  see  each 
other  as  ever ;  and,  if  you  did  wrong,  I  very  freely  forgive. 
But,  Willie,  will  you  tell  me  why  you  left  us  in  such  a 
strange  manner  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that ;  don't  ask  me  again,  will  you?" 

"What,  never?" 

"  Do  not  urge  me  to  tell  you  now !  " 

"  Well,  I  will  not;  but,  as  it  is  a  mystery  to  me,  I  hope 
you  may  feel  to  clear  it  up  some  day.  You  may  rest  assured 
that  I  am  not  governed  by  an  idle  curiosity." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  you,  Jeannie;  and,  if  the  time  ever  comes 
when  I  can  enlighten  you,  I  will." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

WALDO    LUND.  —  THE   DROOPING    SPIRITS   OF   THE   INVALID   REVIVE. 

"  0,  MAMMA  !  "  said  Waldo  Lund,  springing  into  the 
room,  "  see  what  a  big  dahlia  I  have  got !  " 

"It  is  large  and  very  beautiful,"  replied  his  mother; 
"  where  did  you  get  it,  dear  ? ' 

"Lucy  gave  it  to  me.  0!  isn't  she  good?  Did  you 
ever  see  such  a  great  red  dahlia  before,  mother?  " 

"I  never  saw  one  more  beautiful,  Wallie.  How  very 
perfect  it  is  !  It  would  be  impossible  to  imagine  anything 
more  perfect ;  and  yet  I  love  other  flowers  better." 

"I  know  which,  mamma;  the  white  roses  you  put  into 
sister's  hand,  when  she  died,  to  carry  to  papa,  away  up  in 
heaven." 

"Yes,  dearest," — wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes;  "I  do 
love  the  roses  best ;  for  they  are  not  only  beautiful  to  look 
at,  but  their  fragrance  is  beautiful." 

"  And  do  the  roses  bloom  in  the  green  fields  of  heaven  ?  " 
—  climbing  into  his  mother's  lap,  and  looking  earnestly  into 
her  eyes. 

"Yes,  my  love,  all  beautiful  things  bloom  there;  and 
they  do  not  fade  and  die,  as  they  do  here." 

"  0,  I  should  like  to  go  there,"  clapping  his  hands,  "for 
there  would  not  be  any  cold  days  and  snow,  and  the  fields 


GLEN  W  OOP.  325 

would  be  green  all  winter,  and  the  flowers  would  look  up  so 
sweetly  into  my  face  with  their  little  blue  and  pink  eyes ; 
and  I  would  walk  out  with  papa  and  sister,  and  we  would 
bring  you  a  bunch  -of  flowers  every  day,  when  you  were 
sick, —  would  n't  we,  mamma?  " 

"  I  should  not  be  sick  there,  Wallie." 

"What!  never  sick  at  all?  0!  I  remember  you  told 
me  so  before.  I  do  want  to  go  there,  mamma; — may  I  not 
go?" 

Closely  Mrs.  Lund  pressed  her  treasure  to  her  heart,  and 
imprinted  kisses  upon  his  lips.  "I  cannot  spare  you,  dearest. 
We  are  but  two,  Wallie  !  " 

At  this  moment  Waldo  turned  his  head,  and  for  the  first 
time  saw  Willie  Cunard.  He  was  so  intent  upon  showing 
his  mother  his  beautiful  flower  when  he  came  in,  that  he  did 
not  notice  that  any  one  was  present.  Jeannie  was  aware  of 
it,  and  was  not  sorry ;  for  she  took  pride  in  hearing  him  talk 
when  he  was  unembarrassed  by  the  presence  of  strangers, 
and  she  wanted  Willie  to  know  what  an  interesting  ^hild  he 
was.  She  now  said,  "This  is  Mr.  Cunard,  Waldo,  an  old 
friend  of  your  mother's,  and  I  hope  you  will  love  him  very 
much." 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  me  ?  "  said  Willie. 

' '  May  I,  mamma  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Why,  certainly,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  then,  I  will ;  but  I  haven't  got  akanted,  yet." 

"But  we  shall  get  acquainted,"  said  Willie;  "  and  we 
shall  love  each  other  dearly." 

"  Shall  we?  —  I  hope  we  shall !  I  love  to  be  loved.-  - 
don't  I,  mother?" 

"  Yes,  dearest ;  and  I  love  to  love  you." 
28 


826  GLENWOOD. 

"  So  papa  did,  and  sis  Carra;  but  they  have  gone  up  to 
God's  house.  Have  you  got  any  papa  and  sister  up  there  ?" 
he  said  to  Willie. 

"  I  have  no  sister,"  he  replied ;  "but  I  have  a  father  and 
mother." 

"  You  have  ?  Then  I  should  think  you  'd  want  to  go  too. 
I  want  to  go  and  see  them  very  much.  I  should  n't  think 
they  'd  have  gone  and  left  us  here  ;  —  they  ought  to  have 
stayed,  and  let  us  go  with  them."  At  this  moment  he 
caught  a  glance  of  his  mother's  eyes,  and  it  was  so  sorrow- 
ful that  he  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  beautiful 
love,  and  said,  "  We  are  but  two,  mamma  !  " 

11  Your  name  is  Waldo  Lund,  is  it  ?  "  said  Willie. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  have  got  another  name, 
and  it  goes  right  in  between  t'other  two." 

"  What  is  your  other  name  ?  " 

"Wyman.  And  that's  my  grandpa's  name.  Do  you 
know  my  grandpa  ?  0  !  he  's  ever  so  good  ;  and  when  he 
comes  to  see  mamma,  he  brings  me  strawberries,  cherries, 
plums,  peaches,  pears,  apples,  and  sights  of  good  things." 

"  Does  he  bring  all  those  fruits  at  once? " 

"  0  no,  I  guess  he  don't.  It  would  be  funny  to  have 
them  all  at  once,  'cause  they  don't  grow  all  at  the  same  time. 
He  brought  over  a  box  of  strawberries  first,  and  the  next 
was  the  cherries.  The  strawberries  and  cherries  were  red  as 
my  dahlia ;  but  the  cherries  were  the  brightest ;  —  0  !  they 
were  so  good  !  Do  you  love  cherries?  " 

"  Yes,  Wallie,  very  much." 

"And  strawberries,  too?" 

"  Yes." 

"  So  I  do ;  and  if  you  will  stay  here  until  next  spring 


OLENWOOD.  327 

vou  shall  have  as  many  as  you  can  eat.  We  have  got  a 
great  bed  of  them  in  our  garden,  and  they  grow  in  the 
grass  out  there  by  the  woods.  I  like  to  go  into  the  woods, 
don't  you?" 

"I  do,  Waldo,  very  much  indeed." 

"  Then  you  shall  go  with  me,  sometimes,  and  we  will  sit 
down  and  hear  the  trees  talk  to  each  other." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  trees  talk  ?  " 

"0,  yes !  Papa,  mamma,  sis,  and  I,  used  to  go  into  the 
woods  last  spring, —  that  was  before  papa  and  Carra  went 
up  there,"  pointing  to  the  sky, —  "and  we  sat  down  and 
listened,  and  all  we  could  hear  was  just  a  whispering  up  in 
the  tree-tops ;  and  I  told  papa  that  they  would  not  talk  out 
loud,  'cause  we  were  listening." 

"  Then  you  could  not  hear  what  they  said?  " 

"  Not  very  well ;  for  the  trees  are  so  tall  that  their  heads 
reach  e'enamost  up  to  the  sky.  Just  see  those  out  there ; 
they  almost  touch  it.  When  they  were  talking,  I  saw  them 
put  out  their  arms  towards  each  other,  and  I  thought  some 
of  them  spatted  their  hands.  I  guess  they  were  playing 
bean-porridge-hot,  as  papa  and  I  used  to." 

"  You  have  queer  thoughts,  Waldo,  and  very  interesting 
ones  ;  and  I  think  that  you  and  I  shall  have  many  pleasant 
walks  in  the  woods  and  fields." 

"  Will  you  go  with  me?  Mamma  has  been  so  sick  that 
she  could  n't  go,  and  so  I  have  not  been  for  a  long  time. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  be  your  companion." 

"  I  do  like  you  !  And  we  '11  go  into  the  woods  and  hear 
the  trees  talk,  and  see  them  put  their  arms  around  each 
other,  just  as  mamma  and  I  do.  I  guess  they  love  one 
another,  don't  you  ?  " 


328  GLENWOor  , 

"You  seem  to  have  a  proof  of  it.  I  think  I  ought  to 
have  one  kiss.'' 

"  I  will  give  you  twenty,  if  you  want,  'cause  I  like  you 
real  well ;  "  and  he  threw  his  arms  around  Willie's  neck, 
while  the  latter  pressed  the  dear  boy  to  his  bosom. 

During  this  conversation  Mrs.  Lund  lay  upon  the  sofa 
and  listened,  very  happy  to  rest  after  the  excitement  of 
meeting  Willie  Cunard,  and  her  long  conversation  with  him. 
It  pleased  her  well  that  Willie  should  take  so  much  notice 
of  her  darling  child,  and  that  the  latter  should  manifest  so 
much  love  for  and  confidence  in  him.  Their  talk,  as  sim- 
ple and  childish  as  it  was,  calmed  and  cheered  her  heart, 
even  though  there  seemed  to  be  a  shadow  mingling  with  the 
sunlight. 

"  Have  you  any  other  name  besides  Mr.  Cunard  ?  "  in- 

•/  «/ 

quired  Waldo. 

"  My  name  is  Willie  Cunard,"  he  replied. 

"  Willie!  0,  what  a  pretty  name  !  Why,  it  sounds  some 
like  my  name.  Willie  —  Wallie.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know 
which  is  the  prettiest,  do  you  ?  Well,  I  am  glad  that  my 
name  is  Wallie,  and  yours  is  Willie.  I  don't  want  to  say 
Mr.  Cunard  ;  may  I  not  call  you  Willie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  How  good  you  are  !  Everybody  is  good  to  me,  and  I 
love  everybody ;  only  sometimes  I  don't  like  Lucy  very 
well,  'cause  she  scolds  at  me." 

"  I  fear  you  don't  always  obey  her,"  said  his  mother. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to,  if  she  did  n't  never  get  cross,  and 
scold  so.  I  always  want  to  mind  her ;  but  when  she 's  cross 
I  can't,  for  I  feel  just  as  cross  as  she.  Mamma  never  scolds 
at  anybody, —  do  you,  mamma?" 


GLENWOOD.  829 

"  Not  very  often,  dearest." 

"I  did  n't  know  as  you  ever  did.  I  never  heard  you,  I 
am  sure." 

"And  so  you  are  named  after  your  grandpa?"  said 
Willie,  who  was  so  pleased  with  Waldo's  remarks  that  he 
wished  to  hear  him  talk  more. 

"  One  name  is  for  grandpa,  and  for  grandma,  too.  Did 
you  ever  see  grandma,  who  lives  at  grandpa's  house  ?  " 

"  0,  yes;  I  lived  there  once." 

"You  did?  I  didn't  know  it!  I  don't  mean  that 
grandma,  but  my  own  grandma,  who  went  to  God's  house 
before  1  was  born.  I  wish  she  had  not  gone  so  soon,  for  I 
wanted  to  see  her  very  much  ;  and  if  she  had  only  waited 
two  or  three  years,  I  might.  I  wonder  where  I  was  then? 
I  guess  I  must  have  hid  where  I  could  n'l  find  myself,  away 
up  among  the  stars.  I  don't  see  how  I  gof  down  here, 
though  !  Perhaps  I  slid  down  on  a  rainbow,  and  my  sled 
went  right  out  of  sight,  and  left  me  sitting  on  a  snow-bank ! 
Did  you  ever  see  my  grandma,  who  went  to  God's  house?  " 

"  Yes,  Waldo." 

"  I  wish  I  had  seen  her,  'cause  she  would  have  loved  me  so 
much.  I  mean  to  go  and  see  her,  some  time.  If  she  don't 
know  me,  we'll  get  akanted  quick  enough,  I  guess.  Carra 
and  papa  want  me  to  come  up  there  and  see  grandma." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"  I  was  playing  by  the  brook,  the  other  day,  and  I  heard 
them  say,  '  Come,  Wallie,  up  here  !  Wallie  !  Wallie  ! ' 
Mamma  don't  want  me  to  go;  but  I  must." 

Willie  now  noticed  that  Mrs.  Lund  looked  very  sad,  and 
BO  he  thought  it  best  to  change  the  conversation. 
28* 


380  GLENWOOD. 

"  Why  should  your  grandpa  bring  you  strawberries,  if 
you  have  a  large  bed  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"0,  'cause  his  are  better  than  ours.  Ours  are  good  enough, 
though ;  but  his  are  great  big  ones  —  big  as  your  thumb, 
and  bigger,  too  !  We  shall  have  some  just  like  them ;  for  he 
brought  over  some  of  the  vines  and  set  them  out  in  our 
garden,  and  he  said  they  were  mine." 

"  Then  you  will  have  two  kinds  in  the  garden,  and 
another  kind  out  by  the  woods  on  the  hill." 

"So  we  shall.  Those  in  the  garden  are  tame  ones  ;  and 
those  out  there  are  wild,  'cause  they  live  in  the  field  by  the 
woods,  and  don't  see  anybody  very  often.  The  wild  ones 
are  the  littlest  of  all.  I  suppose  they  ran  away  from  the 
garden,  some  night,  'cause  they  wanted  more  liberty ;  and,  as 
they  don't  h^ive  nobody  to  take  care  of  them,  they  can't 
grow  much.  I  have  seen  the  wild  hens  out  in  the  woods, 
and  they  an't  half  so  large  as  our  tame  ones." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  weary  Mr.  Cunard,"  said  Mrs. 
Lund,  "if  you  talk  any  longer  now,  Wallie;  so  you  had 
better  go  and  see  Lucy,  and  talk  with  her  a  while." 

"  And  I  shall  weary  you,  too,  'cause  you  are  sick.  I 
forgot  you  was  sick,  and  could  n't  bear  much." 

Waldo  now  sprang  out  of  Willie's  lap,  and  went  to  his 
mother,  and  put  his  arms  around  her  neck  and  kissed  her, 
and  then  left  the  room. 

"  You  have  an  interesting  child,"  said  Willie. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so.  He  is  a  world  of  comfort  to 
me.  But  he  sometimes  says  things  which  startle  me  very 
much.  His  fancies  and  conceits  are  very  odd  indeed.  At 
times  his  remarks  are  very  beautiful,  seeming  to  manifest 
thought  which  a  man  would  not  be  ashamed  of;  and  again 


GLENWOOD.  331 

he  says  things  which  are  very  ludicrous,  quite  often  in  rela- 
tion to  subjects  the  most  sacred." 

"It  is  frequently  so  with  children.  Their  remarks, 
which  seem  to  indicate  thought  far  beyond  their  years,  pro- 
ceed, I  fancy,  from  a  sort  of  childish  instinct." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  but  it  may  be  that  you  are 
correct." 

"It  is  a  mere  matter  of  opinion,  I  suppose.  But  you 
look  weary ;  so,  with  your  permission,  I  will  go  and  get 
Waldo,  and  take  a  view  of  the  farm." 

"  I  feel  happier,  Willie,  than  I  have  for  a  long  time  be- 
fore, and  as  though  I  could  drop  into  a  refreshing  slumber. 
If  I  can  sleep  an  hour  or  so,  it  will  make  me  much  better. 
It  is  half-past  three,  now,  so  I  have  but  two  hours  before 
tea.  Remember  that  we  have  supper  at  half-past  five,  arid 
I  want  you  and  Waldo  to  be  here  without  fail." 

Willie  arose  to  go,  but  he  wished  that  he  might  remain 
near  her  until  she  fell  asleep,  being  vain  enough  to  fancy 
that  his  presence  would  bring  soothing  and  quieting  reflec- 
tions, and,  as  it  were,  win  her  to  forgetfulness  and  repose. 
He  looked  inquiringly  into  her  eyes.  She  read  his  thoughts ; 
her  hand  was  extended,  and  he  gladly  took  it  again.  It  was 
not  long  before  her  eyes  closed,  and  she  was  at  rest,  her 
slumber  being  as  refreshing  as  that  of  a  little  child  when 
folded  to  the  bosom  of  its  mother.  Willie  still  held  her 
hand, —  how  could  he  relinquish  it?  An  hour  passed,  and 
he  went  in  search  of  Waldo. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

A  WALK   BY   THE   BROOK.  —  A   CHILD'S   PRAYER. HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

WALDO  LUND  was  highly  elated  with  the  proposition  to 
walk  with  Willie  Cunard ;  for  he  already  began  to  regard 
him  as  a  newly-found  friend,  who  would  be  very  dear  to 
him. 

"  Where  shall  we  go?"  inquired  Willie. 

"  I  like  to  walk  by  the  brook,"  said  Waldo.  "You  never 
saw  my  brook  !  It  is  very  pretty.  When  I  lie  down  close 
to  it,  I  can  hear  it  sing  and  laugh.  Sometimes  I  think  it 
wants  to  sing  me  to  sleep." 

"  You  love  the  brook  very  much,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  0  yes  !  Do  you  know  that  it  never  gets  dry,  like 
other  brooks  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  does  it  keep  running  all  the  time  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir ;  it  never  stops  at  all,  and  it  don't  get  tired, 
neither.  Would  you  like  to  know  why  it  never  becomes 
dry  ?  I  will  tell  you.  It  bubbles  right  up  from  the 
ground;  and  so  it  don't  make  any  difference  whether  it 
rains  or  not." 

"  The  water  conies  from  a  spring,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  Would  you  like  to  see  it?  Mamma  went 
there  with  me  once.  I  would  like  to  go  and  show  it  to 
you." 


GLENWOOD.  333 

"  I  should  be  happy  to  be  your  companion,  if  it  is  not 
too  far  for  my  little  friend  to  walk." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?  I  can  walk  as  far  as  that,  and  a 
great  deal  further,  I  guess.  It 's  but  just  a  little  ways." 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  brook,  and  they  kept  near 
it  until  they  came  to  a  cold,  clear  spring,  at  the  base  of  a 
hill,  its  source.  Here  they  sat  down  to  rest,  Waldo's 
tongue  running  as  glibly  as  ever.  Returning,  they  visited, 
on  their  way,  a  large  field  of  maize.  When  they  reached 
the  house  supper  was  already  on  the  table,  and  Mrs.  Lund 
was  waiting  for  them. 

"  You  are  a  few  minutes  too  late,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  fearful  that  we  might  be,"  said  Willie.  "  Was 
your  sleep  refreshing,  Jeannie  ?  " 

"  Exceedingly  so  ;  I  have  only  been  awake  a  few  minutes. 
Don't  Hook  better?" 

"Your  countenance  has  a  more  cheerful  expression.  I 
think  you  have  been  very  low-spirited,  and  that  has  hindered 
your  recovery  more  than  anything  else." 

"  My  troubles  made  me  ill;  but  I  shall  not  give  way  to 
them  hereafter,  as  I  have  done." 

"  Not  if  I  stay,  for  I  shall  not  allow  it." 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  here,  Willie;  for  I  shall  be 
happier  than  I  could  have  been  with  anybody  else.  I 
regard  you  both  as  brother  and  friend." 

Lucy  now  brought  in  the  tea,  and  the  trio  sat  down  to 
supper.  Willie  thought  how  much  the  table  resembled  Mrs. 
Wyman's,  the  first  night  he  went  to  the  cottage ;  everything 
distinguished  by  the  same  neatness  and  order.  Very  happy 
were  these  three  friends,  as  they  surrounded  the  frugal  board. 
Mrs.  Lund  seemed  more  like  herself  than  for  many  weeks 


334  GLENWOOD. 

before,  while  "Willie  felt  a  greater  degree  of  satisfaction  than 
he  had  since  Waldo  Lund  first  entered  the  cottage  of  the 
Wymans.  Jeannie  was  his  dear  friend  again,  and,  for  the 
present,  he  asked  no  more.  Little  Waldo  had  seen  so  many 
lonesome  hours  since  his  father  and  Carra  died,  that  he  was 
glad  to  have  a  new  acquaintance,  one  whom  he  could  love 
so  well. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  walk,  Wallie?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Lund. 

"  0,  yes ;  a  very  pleasant  walk.  Willie  went  to  my 
pretty  brook  with  me ;  and  then  we  followed  it,  just  as  you 
and  I  did,  mamma,  clear  away  to  the  cool  spring,  where 
the  water  bubbles  up  so  funny  !  We  put  our  mouths  down 
and  drank.  How  cold  and  sweet  it  was  !  We  saw  some 
little  fishes  in  the  brook, — little  shiny  ones,  with  golden  spots 
all  over  them.  They  were  afraid  of  us  ;  but  they  no  need 
to  have  been,  for  we  would  n't  hurt  them  for  a  great  deal ; 
and  I  told  them  so,  but  I  suppose  they  did  not  believe  me, 
for  they  hid  away  as  fast  as  ever  they  could." 

"  Waldo's  brook  rises  in  a  beautiful  spot,"  said  Willie. 

"Very  beautiful,"  Mrs.  Lund  replied.  "I  have  been 
there  often,  and  I  always  take  a  draught  of  the  cold  water. 
I  never  saw  sweeter  water  than  that.  How  did  you  like 
the  looks  of  the  farm?  " 

"  Very  much.  What  a  fine  field  of  corn  you  have  !  Your 
land  has  been  well  cultivated ;  but  I  noticed  that  some 
things  have  been  neglected  the  past  season." 

"  I  presume  so;  but  I  fancy  the  proper  remedies  will  be 
speedily  applied  ;  for  you  remember  that  I  have  confided 
everything  to  your  care." 

"  And  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  faithful,  Jeannie,  though  I 


QLENWOOD.  885 

must  claim  the  privilege  of  sometimes  seeking  your  counsel 
and  advice." 

"Which  I  will  cheerfully  give,— only  wait  until  I  am 
stronger." 

In  pleasant,  familiar  conversation,  like  the  above,  they 
spent  an  hour  at  the  table.  In  the  evening  Willie  read 
aloud  from  Willis'  sacred  poems;  and  so  the  hours,  which 
had  previously  hung  so  heavily  with  Mrs.  Lund,  fled  speed- 
ily and  happily  away.  At  half-past  seven  Waldo  went  tc 
bed ;  but  before  doing  so  he  kneeled  down  by  his  mother, 
and  repeated  the  Lord's  prayer,  and  closed  by  saying, 
"  God  bless  mamma,  God  bless  Willie,  God  bless  grand- 
father, God  bless  grandma,  papa,  and  Carra  in  heaven." 

So  long  had  the  evenings  seemed  since  Mrs.  Lund  waa 
convalescent,  that  she  could  scarcely  realize,  when  the  clock 
struck  nine,  that  it  could  be  so  late. 

When  Willie  had  laid  his  head  upon  the  pillow  that 
night,  he  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  analyze  his  feelings. 
He  had  found  his  dearest  friend  again,  and  she  seemed 
nearer  to  him  now  than  ever.  She  was  very  glad  that  he 
had  come ;  and  she  had  expressed  a  wish  that  his  visit  might 
be  a  long  one,  for  he  could  make  her  more  cheerful  than 
any  one  else.  She  was  a  widow  ;  would  she  marry  again  ? 
Very  uncertain,  he  thought.  She  evidently  regarded  him 
as  a  brother ;  he  was  thankful  for  that  much.  It  was  possi- 
ble that  his  presence  might  give  her  more  pleasure  than  a 
brother's  could.  If  not  now,  in  the  future.  She  might 
never  love  him  well  enough  to  be  his  wife,  but  he  had  no 
fears  that  she  would  ever  become  the  wife  of  another.  He 
fancied  that  he  should  be  content,  if  she  would  only  remain 
single.  While  these  reflections  were  coursing  through  his 


336  GLENWOOD. 

mind,  sleep  was  stealing  upon  him,  and,  though  his  thoughts 
were  but  half  formed,  they  were  pleasant.  Now  he  let  go 
a  thread,  and  then  caught  it  again ;  but  by  and  by  he  re- 
linquished his  hold  entirely,  and  passed  into  dream-land. 

There  was  another  pillow  which  Avas  peaceful  that  night, 
one  that  had  been  very  restless ;  but  the  heart  of  the  one 
who  pressed  it  was  soothed  and  comforted.  Mrs.  Lund's 
thoughts  were  wholly  of  Willie.  What  a  6ne  man  he  had 
become,  so  intelligent  and  interesting  !  He  loved  her  boy, 
and  the  dear  child  had  so  instinctively  taken  to  him.  ' '  He 
is  my  brother,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  while  he  remains 
I  shall  be  quite  happy." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    POOR-HOUSE.  —  HECTOR'S     RELIGION. SICKNESS    AND     REBELLION 

AMONG    THE    PAUPERS. REMORSE   AND    DEATH. POLLY    HAGGETT    IN 

LUCK.  SUE    STARTS    ON    HER    BRIDAL   JOURNEY. 

THE  paupers  in  Glenwood  were  continually  complaining 
of  the  treatment  they  received  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregg  and 
Mrs.  Betsey's  children ;  but  the  majority  of  the  people  did 
not  heed  them.  They  were  old,  or  sick,  or  half-witted;  and 
such  persons  were  noted  for  being  unreasonable,  irritable, 
and  fault-finding.  They  had  bitterly  censured  the  manage- 
ment of  Mr.  Bumpus ;  and,  whoever  might  be  the  master, 
they  would  still  complain. 

These  considerations  satisfied  very  many,  especially  those 
who  were  blessed  with  easy  consciences ;  and  far  be  it  from 
me  to  say  that  they  were  wholly  groundless.  It  is  a  diffi- 
cult thing  to  make  this  class  of  persons  contented.  But 
their  lot  is  deplorable  at  best,  and  we  should  strive  to  make 
them  as  comfortable  as  may  be. 

There  were  many  in  Glenwood  who  doubted  not  the  poor 
had  good  reason  for  their  complaints,  and  they  were  not 
backward  in  expressing  their  opinions  and  giving  their  rea- 
sons ;  but  they  neglected  to  push  the  matter  to  an  issue,  and 
cause  an  investigation 

As  we  have  seen,  Mrs.  Gregg  managed  to  have  every- 
29 


GLENWOOD. 

thing  done  very  much  in  accordance  with  her  own  wishes  ; 
and,  while  the  paupers  were  meanly  fed  and  worse  clothed, 
her  own  table  was  furnished  in  the  most  substantial  manner. 
She  clothed  and  fed  her  children  well,  and  kept  the  part 
of  the  house  devoted  to  the  use  of  her  own  family  very  clean, 
and  all  things  in  good  order ;  but  that  portion  of  the  build- 
ing where  the  paupers  lived  was  shamefully  neglected,  es- 
pecially the  beds  and  bedding ;  and  this  state  of  things  was 
continually  growing  worse. 

Of  all  the  paupers,  Hector  was  the  happiest ;  and  though 
the  boys  and  young  men  made  sport  of  him  continually,  he 
rather  enjoyed  it  than  otherwise.  Mrs.  Gregg  would  not 
always  let  him  have  as  much  to  eat  as  he  wanted,  but  he 
had  a  loaf  of  bread  every  night  to  fall  back  upon,  and  he 
received  sheets  of  gingerbread,  crackers,  etc.,  in  compen- 
sation for  services  which  he  was  not  always  willing  to 
perform.  For  a  time  he  did  everything  with  alacrity  that 
was  required  of  him,  but  by  and  by  it  was  beat  into  his 
dull  brain  that  some  things  were  not  exactly  safe  or  pleas- 
ant, and  so  a  stimulus  was  needed  in  the  shape  of  food  or 
strong  drink. 

One  morning  Hector  approached  Mr.  Bugbee's  shop, 
walking  very  slowly.  When  asked  the  reason,  he  said  that 
he  was  "  gittin'  old  —  that  he  was  'bout  six  months  older 
than  Mr.  Gregg."  This  some  one  had  told  him.  The  an- 
swer so  pleased  his  employer,  that  he  shook  with  a  hearty 
smile,  and  said : 

"Well,  you  are  old,  sure  enough!  I  have  heard  that 
you  have  changed  your  religion  lately ;  —  how  's  that  ?  " 

"Yeth,  Misser  Bugbee,"  said  Hector,  "I  has.  I  used 
to  be  a  Baptis',  for  I  'sidered  'mersion  in  'cordance  with 


QLENWOOD.  839 

Scriptur ;  but  I  came  to  'gard  that  are  as  a  minority  'sider- 
ation,  and  of  no  sort  of  quinsequence ;  so  I  shan't  comport 
that  are  domination  any  more." 

"  What  are  you  now,  Hector?  " 

"I's  got  to  be  one  of  the  'spised  sec'  of  Univarsal- 
lers." 

"  How  came  that  about,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"  I  was  brought  over  by  Misser  Gregg  ;  and  I  never  can 
be  'ficiently  grateful  to  Misser  Gregg  for  bringin'  me  to  see 
the  full  rad'ance  of  gracious  'varsalism." 

"  0,  Lord  !  I  can't  help  smiling.  I  understand  that  you 
have  a  new  minister  at  your  parish? " 

"  Yeth,  Misser  Bugbee,  and  he's  a  smart  one;  the  smart- 
est minster  in  the  whole  town,  he  is.  The  way  be  puts  it 
down  is  a  caution, —  yeth,  a  caution,  Misser  Bugbee." 

Here  the  conversation  ended,  Mr.  Bugbee  smiling  the 
same  as  usual. 

A  few  weeks  after,  in  the  evening,  the  clergyman  of  the 
new  parish  was  walking  in  company  with  a  number  of  the 
younger  portion  of  his  flock,  and  on  their  way  they  met 
Hector,  when  one  of  the  ladies,  who  was  fond  of  a  joke, 
asked  him  how  he  liked  their  new  minister. 

"He  is  a  pindlin'-lookin'  man,  an't  he?"  said  Hector. 

"He  is  not  very  fleshy,"  she  replied;  "but  don't  you 
think  he  's  smart?" 

"  Wai,  I  guess  he  won't  set  the  world  a  fire.  He  can 
make  a  noise,  and  holler  pretty  loud,  and  that 's  'bout  all  it 
'mounts  to.  If  you  is  gon  to  build  up  yer  'ciety,  ye  must 
have  somebody  that 's  got  bottom  to  him,  and  not  one  like 
that  are  pindlin'-lookin'  feller,  all  wind  and  gars." 


340  GLEN  WOOD. 

"  Are  you  a  Universalist  now,  Hector?  " 

"No,  marm.  I 's  gin  that  ere  up  —  it 'snot  Scriptur, 
and  there 's  no  'ligion  'bout  it ;  it 's  nothin'  but  'fidelity  out 
and  out  —  it  is;  it 's  jist  rank  'fidelity." 

"  What  are  you  now,  then  ?  " 

"  I 's  got  to  be  a  Swiginborgier,  and  that's  the  Tightest 
of  'em  all ;  't  is,  and  if  yer  want  to  be  the  rightest,  ye  must 
gin  up  your  'varsalism,  and  become  a  Swiginborgier !  " 

They  now  left  him,  the  company  laughing  quite  heartily, 
the  clergyman  expressing  his  regret,  with  mock  gravity,  for 
the  loss  his  parish  had  sustained. 

Mr.  Gregg  became  daily  more  and  more  unhappy ;  and 
so  unattractive  was  his  home,  that  he  was  seldom  there,  ex- 
cept at  night.  Mrs.  Gregg  was  determined  to  be  mistress 
in  the  house,  whether  Mr.  Gregg  was  pleased  or  not.  She 
had  been  very  careful  how  she  used  her  tongue  in  his  pres- 
ence ;  but  familiai-ity  breeds  contempt,  and  she  gradually 
loosened  the  rein  that  held  it  in  check,  until  he  came  to 
dread  it  as  did  his  predecessor. 

As  he  was  so  unhappy  at  home,  and  troubled  somewhat 
by  the  stings  of  conscience,  he  naturally  sought  for  busi- 
ness of  an  exciting  character.  He  purchased  two  pieces  of 
land,  and  sold  them  soon  after,  making  a  thousand  dollars. 
This  good  fortune  stimulated  him  to  purchase  more  largely ; 
and,  as  he  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  his  business  tact,  he 
journeyed  to  the  West,  making  extensive  purchases. 

For  a  time  he  was  very  successful,  and  this  encouraged 
him  to  launch  out  still  more  boldly  upon  the  perilous  waters 
of  speculation.  Early  the  ensuing  spring  there  was  a 
pressure  in  the  money  market,  and  it  continued  to  in- 
crease for  a  number  of  months ;  and  Mr.  Gregg  made  great 


GLENWOOD.  341 

efforts  to  meet  his  bills,  but  in  vain,  and  by  and  by  they 
were  protested  to  a  large  amount.  An  officer  was  immedi- 
ately despatched  to  Glen  wood,  who  attached  all  his  property 
there,  personal  and  real  estate. 

During  Mr.  Gregg's  absence  the  management  at  the 
alms-house  had  been  more  execrable  than  when  he  was  at 
home. 

As  soon  as  the  warm  weather  came,  many  of  the  paupers 
were  taken  dangerously  ill.  Two  of  them  died,  and  others 
barely  escaped.  The  disease  spread  into  other  families  in 
the  neighborhood,  some  of  whose  members  had  watched 
with  those  unfortunate  ones  ;  several  died,  and  in  one  family 
two  beautiful  children — all  they  had.  And  now  Mr.  Goose 
and  Deacon  Glubbings  entered  a  complaint  against  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gregg  for  the  manner  in  which  the  affairs  of  the 
alms-house  were  conducted. 

It  was  the  third  week  in  August  when  it  was  known  in 
Glenwood  that  Mr.  Gregg  had  failed,  and  that  his  liabilities 
were  thousands  of  dollars  greater  than  his  property  would 
bring  in  the  then  depressed  state  of  business.  The  day  before 
his  goods  were  attached,  the  complaint  for  mismanagement 
was  entered.  The  paupers  became  aware  of  both  the  same 
day.  The  news  caused  great  excitement  and  rejoicing 
among  them.  Such  had  been  their  usage  for  the  last  six 
months,  that  they  were  all  seeking  for  revenge.  The  num- 
ber of  paupers  was  now  large,  for  two  families  were  added 
the  fall  before  —  one  Irish,  consisting  of  six  persons. 

They  remained  peaceable  that  day  until  their  dinner  was 

put  on  to  the  table,  which  consisted  of  a  soup,  made  of 

the  odds  and  ends  of  almost  everything  cooked  under  that 

roof,  and  especially  those  articles  of  food  prepared  for  Mrs. 

29* 


GLENWOOD. 

Gregg's  own  table.  There  were  scraps  of  bacon,  crusts  of 
rye  and  Indian  bread,  pork-rinds,  bits  of  sausages,  junks 
of  boiled  salt  beef,  cold  potatoes,  baked  and  boiled,  the 
skins  of  the  former,  old  beef-bones,  doing  service  for  the 
fourth  time ;  turnips,  cabbage,  parsnips,  onions,  carrots, 
barley,  etc.  ;  all  put  in  together,  and  made  into  one  hodge- 
podge mess,  called  a  stew.  It  was  a  savory  dish,  for  it  was 
well  seasoned  with  pepper  and  salt. 

This  abominable  stuff  was  the  paupers'  dinner  three 
times  a  week,  nothing  else  being  furnished  excepting  water. 
It  was  very  repugnant  to  the  most  of  them,  but  they  ate  it, 
because  it  was  the  only  food  provided.  Hector  usually  ate 
heartily,  but  there  were  others  who  could  force  down  but 
little. 

When  Mrs.  Gregg  told  the  paupers  their  dinner  was 
ready,  not  one  of -them  moved  towards  the  table. 

"  Sit  down  to  your  dinners,  this  moment !  "  she  said,  in  a 
loud  voice. 

And  now  there  was  a  movement  in  good  earnest,  for  three 
of  them  caught  hold  of  her,  and  forced  her  towards  the 
savory  dish.  She  become  furious,  screaming  at  the  top  of 
her  voice,  clawing  at  their  eyes  and  hair,  and  making  des- 
perate efforts  to  break  away.  They  held  her  fast,  however, 
and  in  rushed  the  children,  causing  a  general  melee  ;  and 
during  the  squabble  they  all  left  Mrs.  Gregg,  but  Marga- 
ret, who  proved  equal  to  the  occasion,  for  she  shook  her 
until  she  was  glad  to  yield.  In  a  few  minutes  from  the 
time  the  combat  commenced,  the  mother  and  seven  children 
were  all  seated  around  the  table.  And  now  what  a  blaze 
there  was  to  all  those  black  eyes:  and  how  red  were  the 
ends  of  those  turn-up  noses  !  Their  plates  were  filled,  but, 


dLENWOOD. 

as  they  would  not  eat,  the  paupers  forced  it  into  their 
mouths,  and  made  them  swallow  it;  spilling  it  on  their 
faces  and  clothes,  causing  them  to  present  a  most  ridicu- 
lous appearance.  A  much  more  inviting  repast  was  waiting 
in  Mrs.  Gregg's  apartment,  to  which  the  paupers  proceeded 
to  help  themselves  with  great  eagerness.  A  part  remained 
on  guard,  while  the  others  ate ;  and  in  this  way  they  all 
partook  of  the  greatest  feast  they  had  ever  enjoyed  in  the 
alms-house.  They  were  hungry,  and  they  devoured  every- 
thing they  could  find  that  was  cooked. 

It  was  their  determination  to  keep  Mrs.  Gregg  and  the 
Slushers  sitting  at  the  table  until  night,  and  then  stow  them 
away  in  the  filthiest  beds  the  house  contained  ;  but,  as  they 
did  not  keep  an  eye  upon  Hector,  he  went  out  and  reported 
progress,  when  the  people  came  and  released  the  prisoners. 
They  found  the  paupers  so  enraged  that  they  advised  Mrs. 
Gregg  and  the  children  to  go  to  the  hotel.  The  selectmen 
held  a  meeting  immediately,  and  deposed  Mr.  Gregg ;  and 
a  successor  was  appointed,  who  made  a  complete  renovation 
of  the  premises  before  he  would  allow  his  family  to  enter 
them.  He  and  his  wife  proved  faithful  to  their  trust,  and 
the  condition  of  the  poor  was  made  comparatively  comfort- 
able. They  were  now  decently  fed  and  clothed ;  and  yet 
it  was  found,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  that  the  expenses  had 
not  increased. 

When  all  the  facts  were  made  known  to  the  public,  so  in- 
dignant were  the  citizens,  that  Mrs.  Betsey  S.  Gregg  con- 
cluded it  best  to  leave -town.  Before  doing  so,  she  wrote  a 
letter  to  her  husband,  that  she  had  done  with  him  forever. 
This  did  not  cause  her  a  single  pang,  for  she  had  never  had 
a  particle  of  love  for  him. 


344  GLENWOOD. 

Mr.  Gregg  returned  to  Glenwood  a  poor,  broken-down 
man,  his  fortune  a  complete  wreck.  His  son  was  not  able 
to  give  him  a  home,  and  Fanny  did  not  care  to,  whether  her 
aged  husband  was  willing  or  not.  And  now  he  thought  of 
poor  Delia,  and  he  felt  that  if  she  were  living  she  would 
forgive  him,  and  willingly  cast  in  her  lot  with  his.  How 
earnestly  he  wished  he  could  learn  her  fate  !  and  for  this  he 
did  not  wait  long.  Mr.  Wyman  saw  Deacon  Glubbings, 
and  gave  him  her  history  after  she  was  driven  from  her 
father's  house,  coupled  with  that  of  her  child  ;  the  latter 
did  not  feel  it  his  duty  to  keep  the  matter  a  secret,  and  so 
the  story  was  soon  known  to  everybody  in  town.  When 
Mr.  Gregg  had  received  some  hints,  he  went  to  Deacon 
Glubbings,  who  told  him  all. 

At  this  intelligence  his  agony  was  intense  indeed,  and 
he  shrank  with  horror  from  the  thought  that  Willie  Cunard, 
the  basely-treated  boy,  was  his  own  grandchild.  This,  with 
his  other  troubles,  soon  brought  him  to  a  sick  bed.  As  he 
seemed  so  friendless,  the  good  Mrs.  Jones,  Jeannie  Wyman's 
boarding-mistress,  kindly  consented  to  have  him  brought  to 
her  house.  He  was  so  troubled  in  relation  to  Willie  Cunard, 
that  the  latter  was  sent  for.  .  He  came  reluctantly,  but 
cheerfully  forgave  the  wrongs  he  had  received.  Polly  Hag- 
gett,  who  was  now  over  seventy  years  of  age,  but  in  vigorous 
health,  was  secured  as  Mr.  Gregg's  nurse.  In  gratitude  for 
her  faithfulness,  he  left  her,  by  will,  what  property  might 
remain  after  his  aifairs  should  be  settled. 

Shortly  after  his  death  business  became  better,  and  at  the 
end  of  three  years  Polly  received  the  snug  little  sum  of 
twelve  hundred  dollars.  She  lived  quite  happily  for  some 
years  after  this  good  fortune ;  and  her  final  departure  was 


GLEN  WOOD.  345 

cheered  by  a  firm  faith  that  there  are  marriages  in  heaven, 
and  that  her  clear  Joseph  (as  she  had  continually  called  Mr. 
Gregg  since  his  death)  was  anxiously  waiting  for  her.  The 
great  idea  of  her  life  was  to  be  married,  and  early  one  morn- 
ing f,he  went  forth  to  meet  the  bridegroom  ! 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

PUTTING     THINGS     TO     RIGHTS. A   RIDE. OLD     TIMES.  —  A     CHILD'S 

THOUGHTS. 

THE  morning  after  Willie  arrived  at  Mrs.  Lund's,  he  was 
up  with  the  sun,  and  without  delay  began  to  examine  the 
premises.  He  went  to  the  barn  first,  where  he  found  a  scene 
of  confusion  and  waste,  baffling  description.  Unthreshed 
grain,  hay,  and  straw,  were  strewn  indiscriminately  all  over 
the  floors,  and  trodden  under  foot  by  whoever  entered  the 
building.  The  stalls  for  the  horses  and  cattle  were  in  a 
most  wretched  plight,  no  care  having  been  taken  of  them  for 
months,  although  visitors'  horses  had  frequently  been  stabled 
over  night.  Willie  felt  that  such  neglect  and  lack  of  neat- 
ness were  inexcusable. 

As  soon  as  the  hired  man  and  boy  had  finished  milking, 
he  informed  them  that  he  required  their  aid.  The  man  de- 
murred, saying  that  he  had  his  work  planned  for  the  day, 
and  when  his  plans  were  interfered  with  everything  went 
wrong.  Willie  told  him  that  he  had  the  superintendence  of 
the  business  now,  and  would  answer  for  all  failures ;  and  as 
to  plans,  he  did  not  think  there  had  been  any  on  that  farm, 
of  late,  the  breaking  up  of  which  would  be  a  loss  to  any- 
body. With  fork,  rake,  and  shovel,  the  three  went  to  work, 
and  by  seven  o'clock,  the  breakfast  hour,  the  barn  was  in  good 


QLENWOOD.  347 

order,  the  hay,  grain,  and  straw,  separated,  each  being  put  in 
its  appropriate  place,  and  the  stable  thoroughly  cleansed. 
After  breakfast,  the  man  and  boy  went  to  the  work  which 
had  been  planned  the  day  before,  while  Willie  reconnoitred 
the  fences,  for  he  noticed,  when  he  came  by  the  field  of  maize, 
the  day  previous,  that  the  cattle  had  been  in,  eaten  of  the 
grain,  and  broken  it  down,  doing  considerable  damage.  He 
found  large  gaps  in  the  walls,  and  the  wood  fences  in  many 
places  entirely  inadequate  for  their  purpose;  and  so  the 
afternoon  and  the  whole  of  the  next  day  were  devoted  to  lay- 
ing up  the  walls  and  repairing-  the  fences.  The  hired  man 
grumbled  somewhat,  but  Willie  told  him  that  it  must  be  done 
then.  The  garden  had  been  sadly  neglected,  and  a  day  waa 
devoted  to  that ;  the  door-yard  was  untidy,  but  the  rubbish 
•which  had  been  collecting  for  many  months  was  removed, 
and  its  disorderly  aspect  was  changed  to  one  of  scrupulous 
neatness. 

In  making  these  changes  and  improvements,  Willie  waa 
puzzled  to  find  the  requisite  tools  to  work  with.  Neither 
the  hired  man  or  boy  could  tell  where  they  were.  After 
hunting  an  hour  or  two,  an  axe,  rusty  and  dull,  -would  be 
produced,  or  a  hoe  equally  rusty.  Willie  soon  learned  that 
things  were  not  kept  in  their  plnces,  but  left  where  they  were 
last  used,  and  so  he  began  to  look  them  up  in  good  earnest. 
In  the  corn-field  he  found  a  hoe,  very  rusty,  and  in  the 
potato-field  another,  one  standing  up  and  the  other  lying 
in  the  dirt.  In  one  field  was  a  plough,  in  another  a  harrow; 
and  in  the  field  where  the  haying  was  finished,  stood  a  rake 
with  four  teeth  broken  out.  There  were  three  axes  lying 
about  in  different  places,  all  rusty  and  dull,  and  everything 
just  as  it  should  not  be.  All  the  implements  of  husbandry 


348  G  L  E  N  W  0  0  D  . 

were  gathered  together,  cleaned,  and  repaired,  and  put  in 
their  places,  and  the  order  given  that,  when  used,  they  must 
be  faithfully  returned.  It  required  some  weeks  to  bring 
matters  into  the  condition  that  Willie  desired  ;  for  there  was 
other  work  on  the  farm  which  could  not  be  neglected. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Lund  was  rapidly  recovering. 
The  roses  came  back  to  her  cheeks,  and  the  light  and  gladness 
to  her  eyes.  Waldo,  the  darling  boy,  was  much  of  the  time 
with  Willie,  and  the  attachment  between  them  became  very 
strong.  As  for  the  former,  he  scarcely  knew  which  he  loved 
best,  his  mother  or  Willie.  It  might  be  that  she  had  the  largest 
share  of  his  love,  but  he  felt  that  he  could  not  spare  either. 
Mrs.  Lund  was  soon  able  to  ramble  over  the  farm,  usually 
with  Waldo  for  a  companion  ;  and,  seeing  the  improvements 
Willie  had  made,  she  gave  him  the  warmest  praise.  She 
remarked  that  there  was  no  need  of  the  counsel  from  her 
which  he  had  desired,  for  it  was  evident  that  he  knew  better 
than  she  what  was  required,  and  had  the  energy  to  see  that 
it  was  done.  Mrs.  Lund  felt  that  she  could  not  well  dispense 
with  Willie's  aid  and  companionship,  and  so  she  invited  him 
to  make  her  house  his  home.  The  invitation  was  thankfully 
accepted. 

On  pleasant  days  Willie  harnessed  the  horse  into  the 
chaise  and  carried  Mrs.  Lund  to  rides,  which  they  both  en- 
joyed very  much.  They  conversed  of  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  future.  The  exercise  and  the  fresh  air  did  much 
to  restore  her  to  health.  During  one  of  these  excursions,  on 
a  beautiful  afternoon,  Mrs.  Lund  said, 

"  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  father,  Willie." 
"  Have  you  ?  "  he  replied.  "  He  is  well,  I  trust  ?  " 
"  Yes,  and  so  are  all  the  family.  You  did  not  know  that 


GLENWOOD.  349 

I  wrote  to  him  that  you  were  here,  but  I  did,  some  days  ago. 
When  he  was  here  last,  he  said  that  things  were  sadly 
managed  on  the  farm,  and  he  should  have  to  come  and  stay 
a  week,  and  see  to  them,  or  send  some  one." 

"  Why  did  he  not  do  so  ?" 

"  Business  prevented  ;  but  I  informed  him  that  I  had  given 
up  everything  to  your  care,  and  that  a  change  had  been 
wrought  which  would  surprise  him  when  he  came  again. 
He  wrote  that  he  was  very  glad  that  you  were  here*;  and  he 
wants  me  to  come,  as  soon  as  I  am  strong  enough,  and  make 
a  visit,  adding  that  you  must  come  with  me,  without  fail. 
What  say,  Willie  — shall  we  go?" 

"  Certainly,  Jeannie  ;  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  visit  the 
cottage  once  more.  I  have  wanted  to  see  your  father  for  a 
long,  long  time,  for  he  was  ever  kind  and  faithful  to  me.  I  pre- 
sume he  thought  me  guilty  of  ingratitude,  but  I  never  was. 
When  I  left  his  friendly  roof  I  never  loved  and  reverenced 
him  more." 

"  It  would  not  have  been  strange  if  he  had  doubted  you, 
Willie ;  but  he  has  assured  me,  time  and  again,  that  he  has 
always  had  the  utmost  faith  in  your  integrity." 

"  I  am  glad  that  he  has  such  a  good  opinion  of  me ;  and  I 
hope  that  I  shall  be  worthy  of  it  in  the  future,  if  I  have  not 
been  in  the  past." 

"When  shall  we  go,  Willie?" 

"  As  soon  as  it  is  convenient  for  you." 

"  How  long  before  your  book-agency  will  demand  your 
attention?" 

"  By  week  after  next." 

"So  soon?" 

"  Yes,  and  if  it  is  not  convenient  for  you  to  vfsit  your 
30 


GLENWOOD. 

father's  before,  we  will  postpone  it  until  after  my  return. 
Or,  if  you  wish  to  make  a  longer  visit,  you  can  do  so,  for  I 
can  go  from  Yamford  to  Boston." 

"  Next  Monday  will  suit  me  as  well  as  any  other  time ;  and, 
as  I  wish  to  come  home  on  Saturday,  my  visit  need  not  be 
postponed.  I  shall  be  lonely  during  your  absence." 

"  Shall  you,  Jeannie  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  friend.  You  little  know  how  much  I  am  in- 
debted to  you  for  my  restored  health.  I  began  to  grow  bet- 
ter as  soon  as  you  came,  and  I  have  improved  ever  since." 

"  Your  words  are  very  flattering,  Jeannie,  and  from  my 
heart  I  thank  you  !  " 

"  I  had  become  very  gloomy,  and,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Waldo.  I  should  have  prayed  that  I  might  die.  I  had  once 
enjoyed  nature,  but  then  all  looked  dark  and  forbidding. 
You  came,  Willie,  and  the  burthen  was  at  once  lifted  from 
my  soul.  You  say  my  words  are  flattering.  Could  you  have 
read  my  thoughts  that  afternoon  and  evening,  the  flattery 
would  have  been  greater  than  can  possibly  be  given  by  words." 

"  Bless  you,  Jeannie  !  bless  you  !  But  I  fear  you  give 
me  more  credit  than  I  deserve.  If  I  have  added  to  your 
happiness,  or  aided  in  restoring  you  to  health,  I  am  thank- 
ful. It  is  a  pleasure  always  to  do  good ;  but  if  the  good 
which  we  do  requires  no  sacrifice  from  us,  we  merit  but  little 
praise." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

' '  Certainly.  If  I  pursue  a  course  of  conduct  which  gives 
me  pleasure,  and  good  is  wrought  thereby,  why  should  I 
receive  praise?  Those  alone  deserve  to  be  honored  who 
follow  the  straight  line  of  duty  when  moral  courage  is  re- 
nuired  or  sacrifices  involved.  In  so  far  as  one  suffers  in  a 


GLENWOOD.  351 

good  cause,  he  is  a  martyr,  and  to  be  commended,  if  he  has 
been  influenced  by  good  motives.  I  have  known  people  who 
prided  themselves  so  much  in  differing  from  others,  that  they 
would  join  an  unpopular  movement  for  no  other  purpose 
only  to  be  at  variance  with  their  neighbors.  From  a  con- 
tentious spirit,  they  would  become  engaged  in  a  good  work, 
which  came  in  conflict  with  the  prejudices  of  the  majority, 
and  thereby  caused  them  suffering.  Now,  if  such  were 
brought  to  the  stake,  and  received  the  baptism  of  fire,  we 
could  only  give  them  the  praise  which  is  due  to  fools.  Act- 
ing in  accordance  with  our  highest  ideas  of  right,  whether 
it  brings  praise  or  censure,  pain  or  pleasure,  can  alone  mani- 
fest true  nobleness  of  soul." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Willie  ;  but  I  fear  that  few,  compara- 
tively, are  guided  by  so  high  a  standard  of  excellence." 

"  Very  true.  But  the  world  is  steadily,  though  slowly, 
I  grant,  moving  forward,  not  backward,  as  many  would  have 
us  believe.  The  army  of  the  truly  brave  is  small,  but  their 
number  is  continually  increasing;  and,  in  due  time,  all 
shall  stand  upon  the  glorious  mount  of  holiness." 

"  I  believe  you ;  but  many  centuries  must  pass  away  ere 
that  happy  time  shall  come.  And  so  I  must  not  praise  you, 
although  you  have  been  instrumental  in  bringing  great  good 
to  me." 

"  I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  worthy  of  praise  ;  for  here  have 
I  passed  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life.  I  have 
witnessed  your  improvement  in  health  from  day  to  day,  and 
much  happiness  have  I  derived  thereby.  But,  Jeannie, 
when  you  so  generously  aided  the  hapless  child,  yon  merited 
commendation,  for  you  braved  the  prejudices  of  others,  and 
wrought  a  truly  good  work." 


352  GLBNWOOD. 

"  I  fear  you  give  me  more  credit  than  is  justly  my  due." 

"  No  Jeannie,  no  !  It  was  your  hand  that  lifted  me 
from  the  '  Slough  of  Despond,'  and  led  me  into  pleasant 
places ;  you  quickened  my  dead  faith  in  humanity  into  life. 
You  knew  me  better  than  I  knew  myself,  and  through  your 
instrumentality  I  became  a  very  different  being.  I  have 
never  forgotten  it,  and  I  never  can." 

"  And  have  your  feelings  in  relation  to  what  I  then  did 
for  you  been  as  intense  always  as  they  now  seem  to  be?  " 

"  Yes,  Jeannie ;  and  they  seem  not  more  intense  than 
they  are.  Your  childhood  life  was  so  beautiful,  that  you 
can  scarcely  realise  how  wretched,  how  utterly  hopeless 
was  mine.  You  have  assured  me,  and  I  believe  you,  that 
my  presence  here  has  helped  you  regain,  in  a  measure,  your 
health.  You  are  not  well  yet, —  far  from  it, —  but  much 
better.  And  I  am  thankful  that  I  have  been  of  some  ser- 
vice to  you,  for  there  is  no  one  in  the  wide  world  whose 
welfare  interests  me  so  much.  The  good  which  you  wrought 
for  me  in  my  great  hour  of  need  is  impressed  upon  my 
heart,  and  there  is  no  power  that  can  erase  it.  I  have 
seemed  forgetful,  but  I  never  have  been." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  you  in  the  least,  Willie.  The  darkest 
portions  of  our  lives  have  their  sunny  places.  It  was 
wearisome  business  teaching  that  large  school  of  great  boys 
and  girls,  in  Glenwood ;  but  how  glad  I  am  now  that  it  fell 
to  my  lot  to  do  so  !  We  had  some  happy  hours,  Willie,  eat- 
ing dinner  together  in  that  old  school-house,  and  walking 
home  in  company." 

"  They  were  very  happy  hours  to  me.  I  have  been  puz- 
zled to  account  for  the  abundance  of  food  that  you  brought. 
People  do  not  usually  put  up  such  large  dinners  for  a  doli- 
cate  school-ma'am,  like  you." 


GLENWOOD.  353 

"  I  can  solve  the  riddle  for  you.  My  landlady  was  very 
generous  the  first  day,  and  gave  me  double  the  amount  I 
actually  required  for  myself.  I  carried  nothing  back ;  and 
so  she  added  to  the  quantity,  and  I  obtained  the  credit  of 
having  an  enormous  appetite  for  dinner." 

"  Did  she  hint  as  much?  "  said  Willie,  laughing  heartily, 
in  which  he  was  joined  by  Jeannie. 

"  0,  yes  ;  she  used  to  speak  about  it  quite  often." 

"If  I  had  known  that,  I  think  I  should  have  ate  more 
sparingly." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  did  not  know  it,  then;  for  you  was  a 
poor,  half-starved  creature.  You  remember  how  well  you 
learned  that  winter?  Those  dinners  helped  you.  With  the 
wretched  fare  that  you  had  at  the  poor-house,  your  strength 
would  scarcely  have  been  sufficient  for  such  hard  study." 

"  But  did  not  Mrs.  Jones'  remarks  in  relation  to  your 
appetite  mortify  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  rather  enjoyed  the  joke.  She 
seemed  to  think  that  I  ought  to  grow  very  fat  and  plump 
and  was  much  puzzled  that  I  did  not." 

"There  are  some  ludicrous  things  in  this  world,  and  it 
is  well  that  there  are." 

V 

"  So  I  think.  But  how  long  shall  you  be  absent  on  your 
book  business?  " 

"  About  a  month." 

"  I  fear  the  weeks  will  be  all  months." 

"  I  hope  not.  But,  if  you  think  you  shall  be  too  lonely, 
you  had  better  remain  at  your  father's,  as  you  are  still  in 
feeble  health." 

"No,  I  had  rather  return  with  you;  for,  now  that  the 
harvest  is  being  gathered  in,  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  be 
30* 


354  GLENWOOD. 

at  home.  You  know  how  things  were  neglected  during  my 
sickness ;  and  so  I  must  not  trust  to  those  who  have  proved 
false,  or  have  no  faculty  for  good  management.  There  is 
one  favor,  Willie,  which  I  shall  require  during  your  ab- 
sence." 

"What  is  it,  my  friend?" 

"  You  must  write  to  me." 

"  I  thank  you  for  asking  it ;  and  I  will  do  so  as  often  as 
you  wish." 

"The  more  frequently  the  better;  for  while  reading 
your  letters  I  shall  half  fancy  that  you  are  present,  and 
talking  to  me." 

"  And  will  you  write?  " 

' '  Yes,  if  I  can  send  my  letters  where  you  can  get 
them." 

"  I  can  arrange  that.  Here  comes  Waldo.  Our  ride 
has  been  longer  than  usual,  and  he  has  most  likely  grown 
impatient." 

"  Has  it  seemed  longer  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Jeannie ;  the  moments  have  glided  away  very 
quickly." 

Some  rods  from  the  house  Waldo  met  them,  and  he 
seemed  quite  unhappy  because  they  had  been  gone  so  long. 
To  please  him,  they  took  him  in,  and  rode  some  distance  the 
other  way. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  that  you  never  would  come  back 
again  !  " 

"  Did  the  time  seem  very  long  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  0,  yes.  I  was  so  tired  that  I  lay  down  and  went  to 
sleep  :  and  when  I  awoke  Lucy  was  so  cross  that  I  did  n't 


GLENWOOD.  355 

know  what  to  do.  I  came  out  doors,  and  sat  down  all  alone, 
waiting  for  you  ;  and  I  was  so  lonesome  !  " 

"If  you  were  lonely,  why  did  you  not  go  to  your  brook 
and  talk  with  that?  "  said  Willie. 

"  I  did  not  feel  like  it,"  he  replied.  "  Sometimes  I  like 
to  go  very  much.  I  went  yesterday  and  sat  down  close  to 
it;  and  then  the  brook  went  running  and  jumping  along,  and 
saying  the  queerest  things !  The  brook  has  a  sweet  voice,  I 
think." 

"  What  did  the  brook  say  ?  "  asked  Willie. 

"  I  don't  know;  it  seemed  to  say,  '  Wallie,  Wallie,  lie  down, 
Wallie  !  —  sing  you  to  sleep,  Wallie,  Wallie ! '  I  did  lie 
down  once,  for  I  thought  it  told  me  to ;  and  mamma  found 
me  right  close  to  the  water,  sound  asleep,  did  n't  you, 
mamma?" 

' '  Yes,  dearest ;  and  you  recollect  I  told  you  that  you  must 
not  lie  down  so  near  the  brook  again." 

"  Well,  I  never  have  since ;  but  I  go  near  enough  to  hear 
its  silver  voice.  I  wonder  what  it  does  say  !  Mamma  says 
that  I  should  drown  under  the  water;  —  the  fishes  don't, 
though  !  I  should  like  to  lie  on  my  back  right  where  't  is 
the  deepest,  and  look  up  to  the  sky,  and  then  perhaps  I  could 
see  God;  I  want  to  see  him.  Is  God  up  there?"  he  in- 
quired, pointing  upwards. 

"Yes,  dearest,"  replied  his  mother;  "God  is  every- 
where." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  him  ;  I  know  that  I  should  love  him. 
Why  can't  he  stick  his  head  out?  " 

At  this  Willie  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  in  which  he  was 
joined  by  Mrs.  Lund. 

"  I  guess  you  think  that  is  funny,  you  laugh  so,"  said 


356  GLENWOOD. 

Waldo;  "but  I  don't  see  -what  there  is  to  laugh  at,  I  'm 
sure.  God  is  up  there,  for  Lucy  said  he  was,  and  so  did 
you,  mamma.  Perhaps  he  is  behind  that  white  cloud ;  — 
that 's  his  curtain,  I  guess ;  and  if  he  would  just  take  his 
hand  and  push  it  aside,  I  might  see  his  face." 

"  God  is  a  spirit,"  said  Mrs.  Lund,  "and  he  cannot  be 
seen  by  mortal  eye." 

"That  is  queer,  if  he  is  big  enough  to  make  everybody. 
But  he  can  speak  and  make  us  hear  him,  can't  he  ?  " 

"What  makes  you  think  so?  "  said  Willie. 

"  'Cause  I  have  heard  him  myself!  " 

"  You  have  heard  him  ?  " 

""  Yes,  and  he  told  me  to  come  up  to  heaven,  for  he  wanted 
me." 

"  You  imagined  that,  I  think." 

"  0,  no,  I  did  not !  I  heard  him  away  up  in  the  blue 
sky ;  but,  then,  it  might  have  been  an  angel.  I  don't  know 
but  the  angels  will  come  after  me  when  God  can't  do  with- 
out me  any  longer." 

They  had  now  arrived  home,  and  so  the  conversation 
ended. 

In  the  evening  Mrs.  Lund  requested  Willie  to  give  the 
necessary  directions  to  the  hired  man  in  relation  to  the 
work  during  their  absence,  and  lay  out  a  general  plan  for 
him  to  pursue  while  he  should  be  away  on  his  book-agency. 

"I  was  overseer  myself,"  she  said,  "until  I  was  sick; 
and  the  business  was  done  very  well.  I  intend  to  resume 
the  office,  in  a  measure,  while  you  are  gone  ;  but  I  prefer 
that  you  should  plan,  and  I  will  see  to  the  execution." 

"I  will  do  as  you  request,"  said  Willie ;  "for  you  are 
not  sufficiently  strong,  as  yet,  to  be  burthened  with  much 
care." 


CHAPTER  XXXIl. 

• 

AT    CHURCH. THE   YOUNG   CRITIC. AMONG   OLD    FRIENDS.  SfPPMEt 

HIS   SUBSCRIBERS. WITH   THE   PENLYS   AGAIN. RETURNS   BOMB. 

THE  following  Saturday  was  a  busy  day  for  Willie ;  for  it 
was  requisite  that  he  should  be  very  particular  in  his  di- 
rections, if  he  would  have  the  harvesting  done  as  he  desired. 
On  Sunday  he  carried  Mrs.  Lund  and  Waldo  to  church. 
She  had  not  attended  before  since  her  illness.  She  was  not, 
however,  pleased  with  the  services.  A  newly-fledged  divine 
officiated  both  forenoon  and  afternoon,  and  his  discourses 
were  altogether  too  highly  seasoned  to  suit  her  taste.  When 
they  had  returned  home,  both  Mrs.  Lund  and  Willie  ex- 
pressed their  disapprobation  of  much  that  the  minister  had 
uttered.  They  thought  that  more  of  Calvary  and  less  of 
Sinai  would  better  accomplish  the  work  desired.  Waldo 
listened  a  while  very  attentively,  and  then  said  :  * 

"  I  knew  that  minister  swared,  I  did.  I  heard  him  keep 
saying  those  wicked  words  all  the  time  he  was  preaching. 
Should  n't  you  think  he  'd  be  ashamed,  mamma,  to  be 
swearing  so,  right  in  the  meeting-house,  on  Sunday?  " 

"He  was  not  swearing,  my  dear.  When  he  spoke  so 
severely  of  the  ungodly,  he  meant  that  they  would  be  pun- 
ished for  their  wickedness." 


GLBNWOOD. 

"Well,  I  thought  he  swared,  for  he  said  a  great  many 
bad  words ;  but  I  suppose  he  did  n't  mean  swearing." 

"  No,  Wallie." 

Monday  morning,  all  hands  were  up  with  the  sun,  and, 
taking  an  early  breakfast,  Willie,  Mrs.  Lund,  and  Waldo, 
started  for  Yamford.  By  eleven  o'clock  she  was  so  much 
exhausted  that  they  stopped  at  a  hotel,  where  they  took 
dinner,  remaining  until  three  p.  M.  It  was  their  intention 
to  have  arrived  at  Mr.  Wyman's  by  one  o'clock ;  but,  being 
detained  so  long,  they  reached  there  just  in  season  for  tea. 

Very  warm  was  the  reception  which  they  received.  A  more 
heart-felt  greeting  they  could  not  have  desired.  Willie  was 
made  to  feel  that  he  was  welcomed  for  his  own  sake,  as  well 
as  for  those  he  brought  with  him.  How  glad  he  was  to  be 
at  the  cottage  again  !  After  tea  he  went  with  Mrs.  Lund 
and  Waldo  to  the  grape-vine  arbor ;  and  then,  as  she  was 
weary,  he  rambled  about  alone,  visiting  old  familiar  places. 
In  the  evening  he  held  a  long  conversation  with  Mr.  Wyman, 
giving  the  latter  an  account  of  his  life  on  Mr.  Penly's  farm, 
and  his  experience  in  the  book-trade. 

During  the  week  Frank  and  Arthur  came  home  with  their 
wives  and  children,  and  all  seemed  to  have  a  very  happy 
time.  Mr.  Wyman  declared  that  he  was  glad  to  see  his 
three  boys  together  once  more.  On  Saturday  the  parties 
all  returned  to  their  several  places  of  abode ;  and  the  Monday 
following  Willie  went  to  Boston.  He  took  the  books  which 
were  subscribed  for,  and  visited  the  various  towns  where  his 
subscribers  lived,  hiring  a  horse  where  he  could  not  con- 
veniently reach  them  on  foot.  Saturday  evening  of  the 
second  week,  he  arrived  at  Felton,  where  he  had  thirty 
names.  Very  hard  had  he  worked  that  day,  and  he  waa 


GLENWOOD.  859 

glad  when  he  reached  the  door  of  the  house  that  had  been 
his  home  for  so  many  years.  He  rapped  very  gently,  but 
Mr.  Penly  heard  him,  and  answered  the  summons. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  opened  the  door  "if 
here  an't  Willie  Cunard  !  How  are  you,  my  boy,  —  how 
are  ye?" 

Before  he  had  time  to  answer,  Hattie,  who  was  sitting  in 
the  adjoining  room,  reading,  came  running,  as  soon  as  she 
heard  his  name,  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms ;  and,  in  the 
transport  of  seeing  him  again,  burst  into  tears. 

"What  are  ye  whimpering  'bout?"  said  Mr.  Penly, 
wiping  his  own  eyes  with  his  large  bandanna.  "  I  don't  see 
anything  to  cry  for.  Are  ye  pooty  wal,  Willie?  " 

"  Very  well  indeed,  I  thank  you,"  he  said;  "  but  where 
are  mother  and  Sarah  ?  " 

"  They  're  out  milkin',  but  they  '11  be  in  soon.  The  old 
woman  will  be  monstrous  glad  to  see  you.  You  've  got 
slicked  up  since  ye  went  away.  I  hope  you  've  made  lots 
of  money.  It  is  terrible  aggravatin'  business,  this  goin'  all 
'round  the  country  an'  gettin'  abscribers.  That  are  day 
that  I  went  round  with  ye  was  'nough  to  sicken  me  on  't." 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  have  come  again ! "  said 
Hattie. 

"And  I  was  glad  to  come,  Hattie,"  said  Willie.  "1 
labored  hard  to  reach  here  to-day,  so  that  I  could  stay  over 
Sunday." 

"  Over  Sunday  !  "  said  Mr.  Penly.  "  I  'spect  you  will 
stop  over  a  number  of  Sundays.  You  've  lived  here  a  long 
time,  you  know;  an',  'sides  that,  you  are  Nation  to  us.  I 
want  you  to  make  us  a  visit  that  '11  'mount  to  soinethin'." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Hattie. 


360  GLENWOOD. 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  stay,"  said  Willie,  "but  I 
must  supply  my  subscribers  without  delay,  and  after  that  I 
have  other  engagements." 

Mrs.  Penly  and  Sarah  now  came  in,  and  were  both  re- 
joiced to  see  Willie.  The  former  wept  very  freely,  and  told 
hhn  that  he  seemed  like  an  own  son. 

{l  Sich  a  cryin'  for  no  thin',"  said  Mr.  Penly,  bringing  his 
bandanna  into  requisition  again,  "I  never  seed.  I  shouldn't 
wonder,  now,  if  the  boy  has  n't  had  a  mite  of  supper." 

"Have  you  taken  tea?"  inquired  Hattie. 

"I  have  not,"  said  Willie. 

"I  knew  he  hadn't,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "by  his  looks. 
Now,  you  'd  never  thought  on  't.  It  takes  the  old  folks  to 
'tend  to  sich  things,  arter  all." 

"  La,  daddy  !  "  said  Mrs.  Penly,  "  I  suppose  she  was  so 
glad  to  see  him  that  she  couldn't  think  of  nothing  else." 

Hattie  immediately  made  up  a  fire  and  put  on  the  tea- 
kettle ;  and  then  she  made  biscuit,  for  she  thought  Willie 
ought  to  have  some  fresh  and  hot.  In  a  brief  period  the 
supper  was  smoking  on  the  table. 

"I  declare!"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "how  smart  that  are 
gal  is!" 

"She  does  work  quicker 'n  ever  1  could,"  said  Mrs. 
Penly.  "Now,  'twould  took  me  a  full  hour  to  have 
got  that  supper,  and  she  han't  been  more  'n  twenty  min- 
utes. You  see,  she  likes  books  about  as  well  as  you  do, 
Willie,  and  I  suspect  she  has  learned  to  work  quick  so  as 
to  have  the  more  time  to  read." 

"That  is  a  good  reason  for  learning  to  work  quickly, 
isn't  it,  Willie?"  said  Hattie. 
.  "]  think  it  is,"  he  replied,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the 


GLENWOOD.  861 

table.     "  Nothing  is  better  for  the  mind  and  heart  than 
good  books." 

"  I  'spected  you  'd  preach  that  are  doctrine,"  said  Mr. 
Penly,  "  'cause  you  are  in  the  business,  an'  't  won't  do  for 
you  to  talk  nothin'  else." 

"  I  always  did  preach  it,"  said  Willie. 

"  So  you  did,"  said  Mrs.  Penly.  "  La,  don't  mind  what 
daddy  says  !  Somehow  or  other,  Hattie  was  born  spry. 
Now,  there  is  our  Sarah, —  she  is  just  like  dacldy  and  me, 
slow  and  sure.  As  for  Hattie,  she's  a  little  flirt  of  a  thing; 
all  she  thinks  of  is  books  and  beaux." 

"  Why,  mother !  "  said  Hattie. 

"  It  would  not  surprise  me,"  said  Willie,  "  to  learn  that 
Cupid  has  you  fairly  entangled  in  his  meshes,  by  this  time, 
Hattie." 

"  You  must  not  believe  any  such  thing,  if  you  hear  it," 
she  replied. 

"Yes,  he  must,  too,"  said  Mr.  Penly.  "None  of  your 
white  lies,  Hattie  !  they're  jest  as  bad  as  any.  I  'spect 
every  day  when  that  are  feller  will  ax  me  for  my  youngest 
darter." 

Hattie  blushed  the  deepest  scarlet  at  this,  and  Mr.  Penly 
and  Willie  laughed  quite  heartily. 

"I'm  afeard  the  cakes  an't  very  good,"  said  Mrs.  Penly. 

"  They  are,"  said  Willie,  "  very  nice  indeed,  and  this 
tea  reminds  me  of  old  times." 

"I  am  glad  if  you  like  the  vittals.  I  used  to  do  the 
cooking  myself,  once ;  but  Hattie  docs  it  pooty  much  all 
now." 

"  There,  Nancy,"  said  Mr.  Penly,   "  how  nat'ral  it  doeg 
seem  to  have  Willie  sittin'  to  that  are  table  once  more !  " 
31 


GLENWOOD. 

"  So  it  does,  daddy.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  Willie,  but 
you  seem  about  as  near  to  me  as  my  own  children." 

"Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Willie  ;  "I  shall  never  for- 
get your  kindness.  The  poor,  sick,  ragged  boy  found  a 
home  and  a  mother  here." 

"  0,  don't  say  anything  about  that,  for  that  was  nothing  " 
said  Mrs.  Penly. 

"It  was  a  great  deal,"  said  Willie.  "  You  were  all  true 
Christians  in  your  conduct  towards  me." 

"  I  never  pertended  to  'sperience  no  thin',"  said  Mr. 
Penly,  ' '  but  to  help  a  feller-crittur  in  his  need  is  my 
'ligion,  an'  I  think  it 's  'bout  the  best  there  is.  Sich  little 
things  don't  cost  nothin'.  An't  I  jest  as  rich  as  though  I 
hadn't  gin  you  that  are  ride?  Certainly  I  am.  An't 
Nancy  an'  me  jest  as  well  off  as  though  we  'd  a  sent  you  to 
the  poor-house?  I  reckon  we  are,  and  a  great  deal  better." 

"If  your  religion  is  less  comprehensive  than  that  of  oth- 
ers, it  is  the  right  sort  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said  Willie. 

"I  know  'tis,"  said  Mr.  Penly.  "What  is  that  are 
'ligion  good  for  whi<-h  is  nothin'  but  prayin'  an'  speech-a- 
fyin'  ?  Not  much.  I  reckon  !  Now,  a  good  many  folks  don't 
have  any  other,  an'  they  don't  want  any.  They  'spect  to 
go  to  heaven  on  that,  which  is  all  they  are  lookin'  out 
arter.  They  don't  think  there's  any  'ligion  at  all  in  help- 
in'  a  feller-crittur.  'Ligion  to  sich  folks  an't  doin'  good, 
but  jest  prayin'  theirselves  right  up  to  heaven." 

"  Don't  go  too  far,  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Penly  ;  "for  you 
are  apt  to  when  you  get  in  arnest.  But  I  think  pooty 
much  as  you  do.  However,  you  know,  the  Bible  says,  '  Ye 
must  be  born  again.' ': 

"  I  know  it  does,  an'   that 's  what  they  call  'speriencin' 


OLENWOOD.  863 

'ligion.  Wai,  arter  all,  I  would  n't  give  my  'ligion  for  that 
of  some  who  'sperienced  forty  years  ago." 

After  Willie  had  finished  his  supper,  Mr.  Penly  began 
to  inquire  about  his  business. 

!;  Have  ye  been  gettin'  abscribers  all  this  time?  " 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Willie;  "for  the  last  six  weeks  I 
have  been  at  work  on  a  farm." 

"  Guess  you  have  !     Who  for  ?  " 

"  For  an  old  friend ;  she  that  was  Jeannie  Wyman." 

"What!  that  are  gal  that  got  married,  and  e'enamost 
broke  your  heart?" 

"  Why,  daddy  !  "  said  Mrs.  Penly. 

"  The  very  one,"  said  Willie,  smiling. 

11  How  are  they  gettin'  along  ?  " 

"  She  has  seen  a  great  deal  of  trouble, —  buried  her  hus- 
band and  oldest  child." 

"  Poor  gal !  that 's  trouble  'nough.  Does  she  take  their 
loss  pooty  hard?  " 

"  It  brought  her  to  a  sick  bed,  and  almost  cost  her  her 
life.  I  found  her  by  accident,  and,  though  she  was  much 
better  than  she  had  been,  yet  she  was  very  weak  and  low- 
spirited." 

"  An'  so  you  stayed  to  cheer  her  up?  Done  jest  right, 
Willie." 

"  She  has  a  large  farm,  and  those  she  employed  were 
not  faithful,  and  so  the  work  was  done  in  a  slovenly  man- 
ner. She  immediately  confided  everything  to  my  care." 

"  Couldn't  put  'em  into  better  hands.  I'll  warrant  ye 
there  was  a  change  'bout  short  metre." 

"  I  tried  to  do  my  duty." 


£64  G  L  E  N  W  0  0  I) . 

"Sartin,  and  you  knowed  how.  I  tell  ye  what  'tis, 
Willie,  I  'spect  you'll  marry  that  are  gal  yet." 

"  Why,  father  !  "  said  Hattie.    "  How  queer  you  talk !  " 

"  He  always  says  just  what  he  thinks,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Are  you  goin'  back  there?  "  inquired  Mr.  Penly. 

"  I  think  of  returning  soon." 

"Goin'  to  stay  long?" 

"  Most  likely  the  rest  of  the  fall,  and  through  the 
winter." 

"  I  see  it 's  all  up  with  us.  We  can't  have  ye  any  longer, 
an'  it 's  no  use  to  'spect  it  now.  Wai,  wal,  it 's  all  right,  I 
s'pose." 

11  The  truth  is,  Mr.  Penly,  that  she  is  in  feeble  health, 
and  she  needs  some  one  to  take  the  charge  of  the  farm 
whom  she  can  trust  implicitly.  Now,  I  am  so  vain  that 
I  flatter  myself  I  am  just  the  one." 

" That's  true  enough ;  I  did  hope  that  I  should  get  you 
back  again.  You  see,  I  hired  a  man  last  spring,  and  he 
was  the  laziest  feller  I  ever  seed.  He  usually  walked  with 
his  hands  behind  him,  at  the  rate  "of  a  mile  an  hour,  jest 
about.  I  could  n't  get  along  with  him  nohow,  an'  I  paid 
him  up  an'  sent  him  adrift ;  then  I  hired  a  boy,  an'  he  did 
fust  rate  till  he  took  to  stealin' ;  so  I  sent  him  adrift,  too, 
an'  have  had  to  depend  on  the  neighbors  ever  since." 

"You  have  not  had  very  good  luck,"  said  Willie. 

"No;  but  I  shall  look  out  sharp  in  the  futur,"  said 
Mr.  Penly.  "I've  kept  things  along  pretty  well,  some- 
how, and  kept  up  the  'provements.  Sakes  alive  !  I  do  my 
work  jest  'bout  as  easy  agin  as  I  used  to.  Now,  if  I  had  n't 
gin  you  a  ride  that  are  day  that  I  overtook  you,  I  should  n't 
had  no  new  ploughs,  no  new  harrer,  no  new  hoes,  an'  no 


GLENWOOD.  365 

new  nothin' ;  an'  I  should  have  had  to  delve  along  jest  as  1 
used  to.  I  jest  cast  my  bread  'pon  the  waters,  that  are  time, 
an'  it  came  back  all  made  inter  cream  toast." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  like  the  changes  I  persuaded 
you  to  make." 

"  Persuaded  !  you  fairly  driv  me  to  it.  I  did  n't  b'lieve 
in  your  new-fangled  things,  but  I've  had  to  give  in  at  last. 
I  've  allus  been  terrible  sot 'agin  new  inventions,  jest  got  up 
to  get  away  folks'  money.  I  liked  the  old  tools  best,  'cause 
I  didn't  know  nothin'  'bout  the  new.  But  I've  lamed  bet- 
ter now,  an'  I  mean  to  paternize  all  the  'provements  here- 
arter." 

"There  is  no  employment,"  said  Willie,  "more  honora- 
ble than  that  of  agriculture.  To  till  the  soil  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  raise  large  crops,  is  what  a  man  may  be  justly 
proud  of.  I  am  resolved  to  have  a  farm  of  my  own,  some 
time  or  other ;  and  I  mean  to  cultivate  it  in  a  scientific 
manner,  that  I  may  be  well  repaid  for  my  labor.  And  I 
hope  that  I  shall  escape  the  mania  for  buying  up,  on  credit 
or  for  cash,  all  the  land  adjacent  to  my  own.  Better  do 
justice  to  a  little,  than  half  cultivate  a  number  of  acres. 
Look  at  poor  Harding  !  The  neighbors  say  that  he  has  double 
the  land  that  he  had  ten  years  ago,  while  his  crops  have 
fallen  off  one  third.  No  class  need  to  learn  wisdom  more 
than  farmers." 

"  I  motion,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "that  you  go  and  marry 
that  are  widder,  if  you  can  get  her;  an'  then  you '11  have  a 
good  wife,  an'  a  good  farm,  too." 

"  Perhaps  she  intends  to  remain  a  widow,"  said  Hattie. 

"I  don't  care  what  she  'tends,"  said  Mr.  Penly;  "but 
31* 


GLENWOOD. 

she  '11  never  do  it,  if  she  has  sich  a  good  chance  as  that  are 
to  better  herself." 

"  I  guess  she'd  have  you,  fast  enough,"  said  Sarah  to 
Willie. 

"She'd  be  a,  foolish  girl  if  she  didn't,  if  you  wanted 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Penly.  "  'T  an't  natur  to  live  all  alone; 
and  I  think  a  widder  has  jest  as  much  right  to  marry  as 
anybody  else." 

"Them's  my  sentiments,  Nancy,"  said  Mr.  Penly. 
"There's  nothin'  like  a  good  husband  an'  wife  in  this 
world.  We  've  tried  it,  an'  we  know." 

"  The  conversation  has  taken  a  turn  which  I  did  not 
anticipate,"  said  Willie;  "and  you  are  laying  your  plans 
quite  freely  for  my  friend  and  me.  As  to  Mrs.  Lund,  I 
don't  think  she  has  thought  of  marriage  since  Mr.  Lund 
died,  although  she  has  been  very  lonely.  What  the  future 
may  have  in  store  for  us,  we  know  not ;  but  we  all  hope  that 
our  fondest  wishes  may  be  abundantly  gratified." 

Willie  remained  a  few  days  in  Felton,  devoting  a  part  of 
the  time  to  business,  and  the  rest  to  pleasure.  He  and  Hat- 
tie  spent  many  pleasant  hours  during  this  visit  in  reading 
and  conversation,  in  the  arbor,  under  the  vine  which  their 
own  hands  had  planted.  On  the  following  Thursday  morn- 
ing, he  reluctantly  took  his  leave  of  his  faithful  friends,  and 
commenced  again  supplying  his  subscribers.  It  took  a  week 
longer  to  reach  them  all  than  he  anticipated.  When  the 
work  was  done,  and  he  had  settled  with  his  employer,  he  glad- 
ly hastened  to  the  home  of  Jeannie  Lund.  The  latter  had 
become  somewhat  impatient ;  for  nearly  six  weeks,  instead 
of  four,  had  passed  since  he  left  her.  His  welcome,  however, 
was  none  the  less  warm  because  he  had  been  absent  longer 


OLENWOOD.  867 

than  he  expected ;  for  Mrs.  Lund  knew  that  circumstances 
beyond  his  control  detained  him. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Willie  arrived,  and  all 
the  inmates  were  in  a  deep  sleep  but  Mrs.  Lund.  She  had 
not  retired,  for  she  felt  sure  that  he  would  come  that  night. 
Why  she  felt  so  she  did  not  know,  for  Willie  had  written  to 
her  that  he  could  not  set  the  time.  After  she  began  to  feel 
assured  that  he  was  on  his  journey  home,  she  thought  the 
feeling  might  arise  from  her  intense'  desire  to  see  him  again. 
But,  as  the  hours  fled  away,  she  knew  that  he  was  coming, — 
that  every  moment  shortened  the  distance  between  them; 
and  when  the  bell  rung  at  a  quarter  before  eleven,  she 
opened  the  door  without  hesitation,  for  she  was  very  certain 
that  Willie  was  there.  She  was  not  disappointed ;  and  the 
warm  clasp  of  the  hand,  and  the  kiss,  showed  that  the  joy 
of  the  reunion  was  mutual.  And  it  was ;  for  their  emotions 
were  such  that  neither  spoke  for  several  minutes.  Willie 
now  looked  inquiringly  into  Mrs.  Lund's  face,  and  said  : 

"  Your  health  has  improved,  Jeannie,  very  much ;  do  you 
not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Willie ;  I  begin  to  feel  as  I  used  to.  For  a  num- 
ber of  days  I  have  grown  stronger  ;  my  wonted  vigor  has  in 
a  measure  returned,  and  sometimes  there  seems  to  pour  into  my 
whole  being  a  new  energy.  At  such  moments  it  does  not  ap- 
pear to  be  the  old  strength  coming  back,  but  something  newer 
and  fresher.  I  still  have  my  sad  moments  —  very  sad ;  but 
there  are  also  moments  of  blissful  enjoyment.  I  often  feel 
as  though  it  were  wrong  to  be  happy  so  soon  after  I  have 
lain  my  loved  ones  in  the  grave ;  but  that  cannot  be,  for  my 
peace  is  so  serene." 

"  You  must  never  harbor  the  thought,  Jeannie,  that  it 


368  GLEN  WOOD. 

can  be  wrong  to  be  happy.  Reconciliation  to  God's  provi- 
dences always  brings  peace." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  You  look  weary,  Willie,  but  I  trust 
that  you  are  well." 

"  I  am  very  well  indeed,  and  have  been  ever  since  I  left 
you.  Has  the  harvesting  been  done  according  to  my 
orders?" 

"  Very  nearly  so.  On  the  whole,  I  am  well  satisfied. 
You  have  not  been  to  supper.  In  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you,  I  had  forgotten  it.  But  I  knew  you  would  be  here, 
and  so  I  have  it  nearly  ready." 

"  Then  you  expected  me  ?  " 

"  0,  yes;  I  had  a  presentiment  that  you  would  come  to- 
night. If  you  had  not,*  I  should  have  been  seriously  dis- 
appointed." 

"  Have  you  expected  me  before  ?  " 

"  I  have  desired  it,  but  have  not  truly  thought  you  would 
come." 

"How  is  Waldo?" 

"  He  is  well,  and  anxious  to  see  you.  He  has  spoken  of 
you  often.  You  must  see  him  before  you  retire." 

"  I  should  be  happy  to,  the  dear  boy  !  " 

"He  is  in  a  sweet  sleep  now,  and  I  shall  not  care  to 
awake  him ;  for  the  excitement  of  seeing  you  would  make 
him  restless  the  remainder  of  the  night.  I  like  to  look  at 
children  when  sleeping — such  sweet,  beautiful  children! — 
do  you  not,  Willie?" 

"I  do,  very  much ;  for  the  repose  is  so  calm.  Where  ia 
Lucy?"  he  continued,  taking  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"  She  is  married." 

"  Married ! " 


QLENWOOD.  369 

11  She  has  had  alarming  symptoms  for  some  time  ;  but  the 
disease  took  her  off  very  suddenly  at  last." 

"  You  are  not  alone,  Jeannie?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Willie." 

"  This  is  not  right.  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  do  the 
work  and  have  so  much  care.  I  must  look  up  a  domestic 
for  you  to-morrow." 

"  She  has  only  been  gone  two  days,  and  I  have  done  very 
well,  so  far.  However,  I  fear  the  work  will  be  too  much 
for  me ;  therefore  I  shall  not  object,  if  you  can  succeed  in 
getting  me  a  good  girl." 

Mrs.  Lund  now  sat  opposite  of  Willie  and  poured  the 
tea,  as  she  did  the  first  night  he  came  to  her  father's.  They 
both  thought  of  it,  and  of  the  events  that  had  transpired 
since  then  ;  their  long  separation,  and  their  coming  together 
again  to  live  under  the  same  roof,  happier  in  each  other's 
society  than  they  had  ever  been  before.  Mrs.  Lund  remem- 
bered that  she  had  compassion  for  the  poor  boy ;  but  now 
such  feelings  were  no  longer  called  for,  and  they  had  been 
succeeded  by  those  of  respect  and  gratitude. 

As  for  Willie,  he  did  not  attempt  to  analyze  his  thoughts. 
He  was  aware  that  he  had  never  conquered  his  early  love 
for  Jeannie ;  but  he  had  learned  reconciliation. 


* 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

AN  IRISH   COOK.  —  AN  OLD  FRIEND.  —  A  CHILD'S  FRANKNESS.  —  WALDO'S 
THOUGHTS   AND   WISHES,   AND    HIS   MOTHER'S   FEARS. 

VERY  glad  was  Waldo  when  his  mother  informed  him,  in 
the  morning,  that  Willie  had  returned.  So  impatient  was 
he  to  see  him,  that  he  went  to  his  chamber,  and,  as  Willie 
was  not  awake,  he  put  his  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed 
him,  when  the  slumberer  awoke  from  a  confused  yet  blissful 
dream,  in  which  things  past  and  to  come  were  strangely 
blended  —  Jeannie  Wyman,  when  he  first  knew  her,  chang- 
ing, somehow,  to  Hattie  Penly ;  and  then  to  a  sad-hearted 
widow  of  somebody,  and  as  suddenly  she  was  his  own  dear 
wife,  reposing  in  his  arms. 

"  Breakfast  is  almost  ready,"  said  Waldo  to  Willie,  after 
they  had  conversed  some  minutes,  "  and  you  must  dresa 
you  and  go  down  and  eat  with  mamma  and  me." 

It  was  Willie's  intention  during  the  day  to  go  in  search 
of  a  domestic ;  but  while  they  were  at  breakfast  a  rap  was 
heard  at  the  door,  and  when  Mrs.  Lund  opened  it  there 
stood  a  young  woman  whose  appearance  indicated  that  she 
had  lately  come  from  the  Emerald  Isle. 

"  Howd'  ye  do,  mum?  "  she  said.  "  May  be  ye  'd  like 
to  get  one  to  do  the  work  for  ye  ?  " 


GLENWOOD.  371 

"  I  want  a  girl  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Lund.  "  Can  you 
do  house- work?" 

"  Och  !  to  be  sure  I  jist  can.  What  '11  I  want  to  do  but 
that  ?  " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  America?  " 

"Is  it  that  ye  want  to  know  now  ?  Och,  sure  that 's  no 
matther  at  all  !  Me  mem'ry  is  not  good  for  the  telling  of 
sich;  but  I've  been  here  this  two,  three,  thirteen  year, 
mum." 

"  Have  you  ever  done  house- work?  " 

"  Och  !  to  be  sure  I  have,  and  here  's  the  paper  that  '11 
tell  ye.  An'  sure  an'  did  n't  my  mistress  give  it  to  me  when 
I  left  her?" 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Me  name?  If  ye  had  looked  in  the  paper  I  gave  ye, 
ye  'd  a  found  it  widout  the  throuble  of  axing  me.  Well, 
thin,  me  name  is  Bridget  McLooney." 

"Walk  in,  Bridget,  and  after  breakfast  I  will  talk  with 
you  further." 

"  Sure  you  will,  an'  won't  I  be  glad  to  sit  down  afther 
walking  this  two,  three  hour?" 

"  Have  you  taken  breakfast?"  said  Mrs.  Lund  to  Bridget, 
as  she  was  about  to  clear  off  the  table. 

"  No  mum,"  she  replied,  "  for  I  started  before  the  praties 
had  been  put  on,  or  the  tay-kettle  ather.  I  've  been  walking 
so  long  that  I  am  very  faint,  mum." 

"  Sit  up  to  the  table,"  said  Mrs.  Lund. 

"  That 's  what  I  will,  an'  the  Lord  bless  ye  for  the  re- 
memberence  of  it !  " 

Mrs.  Lund  now  examined  the  certificate,  which  stated  that 
Bridget  McLooney  had  been  employed  as  a  cook  in  a 


372  GLENWOOD. 

boarding-house  for  six  months.  After  Bridget  had  devoured 
all  there  was  upon  the  table,  she  moved  to  her  former  seat. 

"  The  certificate  says  that  you  have  been  employed  as  a 
cook,"  Mrs.  Lund  remarked  to  her. 

"Yis,  mum,  that's  thrue." 

"  How  much  do  you  ask  a  week  ?  " 

"  How  much  do  I  ax  a  wake  ?  "  with  a  somewhat  dubious 
look.  "Is  it  the  pay  ye  were  spaking  of  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  thin,  may  be  I'd  ax  ye  two  dollar." 

"  I  do  not  like  to  give  so  much  as  that ;  however,  I  will 
take  you  on  trial  for  a  few  days." 

Bridget  now  went  to  work  under  Mrs.  Lund's  directions ; 
but  the  latter  had  sufficient  reason,  before  night,  to  doubt  the 
truth  of  the  statement  in  the  certificate  that  she  had  had  six 
months'  experience  as  a  cook.  She  washed  and  wiped  the 
dishes  very  well ;  but,  in  getting  dinner,  Mrs.  Lund  had  to 
do  it  nearly  all.  When  it  was  time  for  supper  she  prepared 
some  buckwheat,  and  asked  Bridget  if  she  knew  how  to  cook 
fritters. 

"  An'  certinly  I  do,"  she  said.  But  when  she  placed 
upon  the  table  the  evidence  of  her  skill,  she  was  greeted  with 
such  a  laugh  from  Willie  and  Mrs.  Lund,  that  she  was  com- 
pletely astounded.  As  for  the  latter,  she  laughed  till  the 
tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  Bridget  had  turned  the  whole 
batch  into  the  fry-pan  and  cooked  it  all  together,  producing 
a  loaf  of  soggy  buckwheat  bread.  Mrs.  Lund  remarked  that 
she  was  sorry  to  lose  the  fritters,  but  the  laugh  was  worth 
more  than  all  the  buckwheats  ever  cooked. 

She  was  told  to  make  coffee  the  next  morning,  and  use 
fish-skin  to  settle  it  with.  Instead  of  following  her  instruc- 


QLENWOOD.  873 

tions,  she  put  in  the  tail  of  a  large  codfish.  The  result  was, 
the  coffee  was  muddy,  and  so  salt  that  it  could  not  be  drank ; 
and  Mrs.  Lund  immediately  made  tea,  which  was  substituted 
for  the  salted  coffee.  As  Bridget  had  such  poor  success  with 
the  fish-skin,  it  was  thought  best  to  have  her  use  eggs ;  but 
every  morning  the  coffee  was  just  so  muddy.  It  was  a  mys- 
tery to  Mrs.  Lund  why  it  was  so.  Having  occasion,  one  day, 
to  go  to  the  cupboard,  she  saw  an  egg,  which  looked  so  yel- 
low, dirty,  and  unwholesome,  that  she  opened  the  window  and 
threw  it  as  far  as  she  could. 

"  Och  !  mum,"  said  Bridget,  "  ye  've  thrown  away  the 
egg  what  I  settled  the  coffee  wid." 

"  The  egg  you  settled  the  coffee  with  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Lund, 
interrogatively. 

"  Yis,  mum,"  she  replied.  "  Sure  I  put  it  into  the  coffee- 
pot, and  stirred  it  up  every  morning  with  the  big  spoon." 

At  this  explanation  Mrs.  Lund  laughed  as  heartily  as  she 
did  when  Bridget  made  the  loaf  of  buckwheat  bread ;  in  which 
she  was  joined  by  Willie,  who  sat  reading  in  an  adjoining 
room,  and  had  listened  to  the  conversation. 

Similar  laughable  blunders  occurred  every  day,  but  they 
became  so  frequent  as  to  be  very  annoying ;  so,  after  a  fort- 
night's trial,  she  was  dismissed.  As  she  had  very  few  clothes, 
on  the  morning  she  left  Mrs.  Lund  gave  her  two  second- 
hand calico  dresses.  Bridget  examined  them  carefully,  and 
then  said, 

"  They  are  poor  things,  but  the  Lord  bless  yo 
accarding  !  " 

A  few  days  after  this,  an  old  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Lund, 
by  the  name  of  Sarah  Whiting,  came  to  make  her  a  visit 
She  was  a  maiden  lady,  thirty  years  old,  and  had  formerly 
32 


374  GLENWOOD. 

been  Mrs.  Lund's  teacher.  She  was  a  person  of  a  large 
frame  and  rather  coarse  features,  but  there  were  times  when 
the  expression  of  her  face  was  very  beautiful.  She  had  re- 
sided with  her  fathe**  but  he  was  now  dead  ;  and  so  she  was 
desirous  of  finding  a  home  for  the  winter  with  one  whose 
spirit  was  kindred  with  hei  own.  She  could  do  house-work 
well,  and  liked  it  ;  but  her  nature  rebelled  against  holding 
the  position  of  a  domestic  merely.  She  could  work,  but  she 
must  be  one  of  the  family,  and  receive  equal  attention  and 
respect.  She  could  not  hold  a  position  which  would  cause 
her  to  be  regarded  as  an  inferior. 

Very  happy  was  Mrs.  Lund  to  welcome  her  old  acquaint- 
ance to  her  home.  She  wanted  some  one  to  aid  her  in  her 
work,  and  she  was  glad  to  have  that  one  a  companion,  an 
equal,  and  a  friend. 

Miss  Whiting  was  a  great  lover  of  children,  and  she  took 
a  strong  liking  to  Waldo  the  moment  her  eyes  fell  upon  him ; 
but,  as  she  was  somewhat  coarse-looking,  and  her  face  plain, 
he  did  not,  at  first,  seem  pleased  with  her.  As  the  afternoon 
wore  away,  however,  he  became  less  shy,  and  no  longer 
refused  her  caresses. 

While  Mrs.  Lund  was  preparing  supper,  Miss  Whiting 
took  Waldo  into  her  lap  and  talked  with  him  on  various 
subjects,  being  both  surprised  and  delighted  at  the  strange 
and  curious  thoughts  which  he  gave  utterance  to.  After 
conversing  for  some  time,  he  laid  his  head  upon  her  shoulder, 
and  gazed  into  her  face  with  a  very  curious  expression. 
She  wondered  what  were  his  thoughts,  and  wished  that  he 
might  utter  them.  He  did  not  keep  her  long  in  suspense, 
for  he  said, 


GLENWOOD.  875 

"  How  homely  you  are !  I  scarcely  never  saw  any  one  so 
homely  before." 

"  Then  you  think  me  very  homely,  do  you,  dear  ?"  she  said. 

"  You  are  more  homely  than  mamma,  or  Willie,  or  any- 
body that  I  ever  saw,  excepting  Bridget." 

"I  am  sorry  that  my  face  does  not  please  you  better, 
Wallie,  for  I  want  you  to  love  me  very  much." 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  dearly." 

"You  do?  Everybody  loves  me.  Well,  I  guess  I'll 
love  you,  if  you  are  homely." 

"  I  hope  so,  for  I  am  to  remain  here  through  the  winter, 
and  after  you  become  more  accustomed  to  my  plain  features 
I  trust  you  will  like  them  better." 

"  0, 1  shall,  I  know,  'cause  they  look  so  good !  —  They  look 
a  great  deal  better  than  they  did  when  I  first  saw  you." 

Mrs.  Lund  was  in  the  adjoining  room  setting  the  table, 
and  heard  this  conversation,  and  she  felt  much  mortified. 
As  soon  as  Waldo  came  out,  she  took  him  into  the  kitchen, 
and  expressed  so  much  disapprobation  at  what  he  had  said 
to  Miss  Whiting,  that  he  commenced  crying  bitterly.  She 
told  him  not  to  cry,  but  to  go  and  tell  the  lady  he  was  sorry. 
Waldo  now  went  reluctantly  into  the  presence  of  Miss 
Whiting,  for  he  supposed  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  a  great 
offence. 

"  What  is  it,  Wallie  ?  "  she  inquired. 

He  looked  up  into  her  face  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
said, 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  're  so  homely  !  " 

A  hearty  laugh  from  Miss  Whiting  was  the  response, 
which  was  answered  by  Mrs.  Lund  from  the  next  room. 


876  GLENWOOD. 

"  You  have  mended  the  matter,  now  !  "  said  his  mother. 

"  The  boy  has  told  the  truth,"  said  Miss  Whiting,  "  and 
that  is  a  thousand  times  better  than  a  falsehood,  though  the 
latter  might  have  been  a  little  more  complimentary.  He 
thinks  that  I  have  a  remarkably  plain  face,  and  he  is 
really  sorry  for  it.  But  I  should  not  have  known  of  his 
sorrow,  I  presume,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  mother.  I  like 
the  boy's  frankness,  and  I  doubt  not  that  in  less  than  a 
week's  time  he  will  very  materially  change  his  opinion." 

"  I  know  he  will,"  said  Mrs.  Lund,  "  for  your  face  doea 
not  look  plain  to  me.  I  care  not  so  much  about  the  regular- 
ity of  the  features  as  I  do  for  the  expression.  A  doll  haa 
regular  features  —  the  expression  reveals  the  depth  of  the 
soul.  A  doll-like  face  will  do  to  look  at  now  and  then,  but 
its  lackadaisical  appearance  soon  palls  upon  the  sight." 

"  That  will  do,  Jeannie.  If  you  say  any  more,  I  shall 
believe  you  less  sincere  than  Waldo." 

"  I  hope  not,  for  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  There  are 
other  faces  which  are  dazzling  at  the  first  glance,  but  when 
studied  you  learn  that  their  owners  have  hollow  hearts. 
The  dahlia  is  splendid,  but  the  fragrant  rose  is  the  better 
flower." 

"  Mamma  says  there  are  flowers  in  God's  gardens  and 
fields,"  said  Waldo.  "There  's  where  my  papa  is.  Don't 
you  want  to  go  there  and  see  them  ?  " —  to  Miss  Whiting. 

"  I  believe  there  are  flowers  in  heaven,"  she  said,  "  and 
they  are  more  beautiful  than  those  of  earth." 

"  I  do  want  to  go  there,"  returned  Waldo  ;  "  God  has  told 
me  to  come.  I  wish  Carra  would  drop  me  down  a  bunch  of 
flowers.  If  she  would,  I'd  keep  them  in  water  a  long 
while." 


GLENWOOD.  377 

"  How  queerly  you  talk,  Wallie  !  "  said  his  mother,  sadly. 

"  Children  have  strange  thoughts,"  said  Miss  Whiting, 
"  and  frequently  give  utterance  to  words  which  surprise  us." 

"  Do  I  talk  queerly  ?  "  said  Waldo.  "  I  did  n't  know  it. 
If  Carra  don't  send  me  down  the  flowers,  I  shall  go  up  there 
and  get  some.  I  should  like  to  come  back  and  see  mamma 
and  Willie,  but  I  don't  suppose  I  can.  I  guess  Carra  is 
lonesome,  'cause  I  am  not  there  to  play  with  her." 

"0,  Waldo,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  make  me  very  sad  !  " 

"  Do  I?  "  he  said,  climbing  into  her  lap.  and  looking  lov- 
ingly into  her  face.  "  I  don't  want  to  make  you  sad,  mamma. 
Would  you  be  sorry  to  have  me  go  up  to  God's  house,  and 
see  papa  and  Carra?" 

"I  cannot  spare  you,  my  dear  boy  !  "  And,  while  she 
folded  him  to  her  heart,  and  kissed  him  again  and  again, 
she  said,  "  We  are  but  two,  Wallie  !  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  die  and  go  to  heaven,  and  leave  your 
dear  mother  alone?"  asked  Miss  Whiting. 

"  0,  I  shouldn't  leave  her  alone ;  for  dear  Willie  is  going 
to  stay  with  her.  Willie  likes  mamma,  and  you  like  Willie, 
—  don't  you,  mamma  ?  " 

"  We  are  friends,"  said  his  mother,  blushing. 

"I  knew  you  were;  and  he  will  stay  here  always.  I 
don't  want  to  leave  mamma,"  he  said,  seriously;  "but 
Carra  wants  me,  and  my  papa,  too." 

"  You  must  not  think  about  leaving  me,"  said  his  mother, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "for  how  could  I  live  without  you? 
I  love  you  with  all  my  soul,  Wallie ;  and  I  want  you,  drar- 
est,  ever  near  me,  to  be  my  comfort  and  support  in  life,  and 
to  console  in  death." 
32* 


878  GLENWOOD. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  said,  "I'll  stay  with  you,  if  God  will 
let  me ;  but  he  tells  me  to  come  to  him." 

"I  have  been  so  engaged  in  the  conversation,"  said  Mrs. 
Lund,  "  that  I  forgot  all  about  my  supper.  I  presume  my 
biscuits  are  half  spoiled.  Waldo  has  one  of  his  serious 
talking  spells;  so  I  will  leave  him  to  entertain  you,  Sarah." 

' '  Did  you  know  that  your  remarks  made  your  mother 
very  unhappy  ?  "  said  Miss  Whiting. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Waldo ;  "  I  did  not  mean  to  make  her 
cry.  I  do  love  my  mamma.  She  is  very  good.  Every- 
body loves  her;  don't  you  love  her?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,  very  much  ;  and  she  is  worthy  of  love. 
I  have  known  her  ever  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  I  have 
always  loved  her." 

"  'Cause  she  was  always  so  good,  I  suppose.  I  mean  to  be 
good,  and  then  you  will  love  me.  And  so  you  will  live  with 
us  all  winter  !  It  will  be  cold  in  winter,  and  the  flowers  all 
dead.  I  should  think  we  might  have  summer  all  the  time, 
and  we  shall  in  heaven.  I  should  like  to  live  in  such  a 
world.  Mother  says  that  she  can't  let  me  go  there,  but  I 
must  go." 

"  When  you  talk  so,  you  make  your  mother  very  sad." 

"  Do  I  ?  I  don't  want  to  make  her  sad,  I  'm  sure.  She 
is  always  good  to  me ;  and  when  I  go  to  God  I  want  her  to 
go  with  me,  and  lead  me  up  the  golden  stairs." 

"  She  may  go  long  before  you  do.  You  have  but  just 
begun  life.  I  expect  you  will  live  a  great  many  years  after 
your  mother  has  gone  to  heaven." 

"  It  would  be  queer  if  I  should  live  to  be  an  old  man  ' 
But  I  shall  not;  I  shall  go  and  see  my  papa  and  Carra." 


QLENWOOD.  379 

"  You  can  see  them  when  you  die,  if  you  live  to  be  a 
man." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  I  can't  wait  so  long  !  I  can't  stay  here 
when  the  angels  tell  me  to  come  !  I  hear  them  every  day ! 
They  have  golden  harps  up  there,  and  they  sing  beautifully ! 
Don't  you  ever  hear  the  angels  sing?  Hark  !  I  hear  them 
now,  and  I  see  them !  How  white  their  clothes  are ;  but 
grandma's  are  the  whitest  of  them  all !  " 

To  this  Miss  Whiting  made  no  reply,  for  Waldo  was  gaz- 
ing upward,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  most  heavenly. 
It  seemed  as  though  a  holy  spell  was  upon  him ;  and  she 
believed,  for  the  time,  that  he  did  see  the  angels.  At  this 
moment  his  mother  came  in ;  and  when  she  saw  the  upturned 
gaze  of  her  child,  and  the  look  of  rapture  which  clothed  his 
face,  as  though  illuminated  with  a  celestial  radiance,  she 
stopped  and  stood  perfectly  still,  regarding  him  with  wonder 
and  fear.  Miss  Whiting  was  equally  absorbed,  and  tears 
unconsciously  rolled  down  the  cheeks  of  both.  The  spell 
was  broken  by  the  entrance  of  Willie.  Mrs.  Lund  now 
dropped  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
when  Waldo  went  to  her  and  sprang  into  her  lap.  Con- 
vulsively did  she  press  him  to  her  heart,  while  he  looked 
into  her  face  with  an  expression  of  warmest  love,  and  said, 

"  We  are  but  two,  mamma!  " 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Lund  could  allay  her  emotions,  she  in- 
formed them  that  supper  was  ready ;  when  they  gladly  re- 
paired to  the  table,  only  too  happy  to  have  something  tc 
change  the  current  of  their  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  VISIT   FROM  MR.  PENLY. MARRIAGE   OF  HATTIE. A  HAPPY  HOME. — 

SPLENDID   SPECTACLE. 

SOME  two  months  after  Miss  Whiting  came  to  live  with 
Mrs.  Lund,  on  a  very  cold  day,  Mr.  Penly  drove  up  to  the 
door,  when  Willie  Cunard  went  out  quickly  to  welcome 
him. 

"How  are  ye,  my  boy?"  said  Mr.  Penly,  cordially 
grasping  Willie's  proffered  hand,  and  shaking  it  heartily. 

"  I  am  well,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  hope  you  are  as  well 
as  you  look." 

"  Never  better  in  all  my  life.  I  'm  old,  Willie,  but  tough, 
—  tough  's  a  pine-knot." 

"  It 's  a  very  cold  day  to  take  such  a  long  ride  ;  but  walk 
in,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to  the  folks,  and  then  I  will  put 
your  horse  in  the  barn." 

"  Sakes  alive !  boy,  do  you  s'pose  I  can't  stan'  a  leetle 
cold?  I  an't  none  of  yer  shiverin'  kind.  I  shall  help  take 
out  Dolly  myself,  an'  see  her  well  cared  for,  afore  I  go  into 
the  house  one  step." 

"  I  have  taken  care  of  her  a  great  many  times,  Mr. 
Penly ;  and  you  know  that  I  can  do  it  just  as  well  as  you.'; 

"  So  you  can ;  but,  somehow,  when  I  'm  'way  from  home, 


3LENWOOD.  381 

I  don't  feel  easy  an'  comfortable  like,  'less  I  see  to  her  my- 
self." 

"  Are  Mrs.  Penly  and  the  girls  well? " 

"Yes;  though  not  'zactly.  The  old  woman  is  ailin'  a 
leetle,  but  the  gals  is  fust  rate.  I  snum,  this  is  a  pooty 
barn  !  How  scrumptious  't  is !  Looks  jest  like  ye.  I  should 
know  you  had  the  care  on  't." 

Mr.  Penly  now  went  into  the  house,  and  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  its  mistress  and  Miss  Whiting. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Penly  to  Mrs.  Lund, — 
"  very  glad.  Now,  I  've  hearn  this  ere  boy,"  referring  to 
Willie  Cunard,  "  tell  on  ye  a  great  many  times,  'an  I  allua 
thought  I  should  like  to  see  you  with  my  own  eyes." 

"I  have  heard  him  speak  of  you  very  often,"  said  Mrs. 
Lund, — "of  your  kindness,  and  that  of  your  wife  and 
daughters.  You  are  very  welcome  here ;  for  I  am  happy  to 
have  Willie's  faithful  friend  for  a  guest." 

"Much  obleeged  to  ye,  Mrs.  Lund.  I  don't  wonder  the 
boy  likes  ye.  An'  so  he  telled  ye  all  about  the  old  feller? 
Wai,  wal,  he  's  a  good  boy,  though  I  do  say  it." 

"You  praise  me  to  my  face,"  said  Willie,  "as  though 
you  thought  there  was  no  danger  of  my  being  spoiled." 

"I  '11  risk  you,"  said  Mr.  Penly,  "for  I  have  tried  ye 
out  an'  out.  My  old  woman  thinks  jest  as  much  on  ye  as 
she  ever  did,  an'  so  do  the  gals,  'ceptin'  Hattie." 

"  Excepting  Hattie?  Why  except  her,  when  we  are  such 
excellent  friends?" 

"  'Cause  she  's  got  somebody  else  to  think  on.  I  've  some 
news  to  tell  ye,  Willie ;  Hattie  is  to  be  married  next  week, 
an'  I  came  over  to  invite  you  and  Mrs.  Lund  to  the  weddin' ; 


GLBNWOOD. 

an'  I  should  like  to  have  ye  fetch  Miss  Whitin'  'long  with 

ye." 

"And  so  the  dear  girl  is  to  be  married!  It  will  seem 
lonesome  at  your  house  without  Hattie.  I  have  spent  many 
happy  hours  with  her ;  and  if  she  was  my  sister,  I  could  not 
love  her  more." 

"  I  don't  like  to  spare  her,  one  bit ;  but  we  can't  'spect  to. 
allus  keep  our  children  under  our  noses,  as  I  tell  Nancy 
when  she  gets  to  snifflin'  'bout  it.  Wai,  what  say, — will  ye 
come?" 

They  all  expressed  a  desire  to  be  present  on  the  joyful 
occasion,  when  Mr.  Penly  said, 

"That 's  the  talk !  We  '11  have  a  good  time,  an'  no  mistake. 
An'  fetch  this  pooty  boy  'long  with  ye,"  referring  to  Waldo. 
"What  say,  my  boy, —  would  you  like  to  come  to  the 
weddin'?" 

' '  I  should  like  to  come  very  much  with  mamma ;  and  I 
will,  if  she  will  let  me,"  he  replied. 

"  She  '11  be  glad  'nough  to  fetch  ye.  Come  an'  see  me. 
You  are  a  fine  boy,  but  rather  pindlin'.  I  had  a  leetle  boy 
once,  jest  like  you ;  but  he  was  allus  poorly,  an'  we  could  n't 
raise  him.  It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  our  hopes,  an'  Nancy 
never  's  got  over  it  to  this  day." 

"  Did  your  little  boy  die  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  was  bigger  than  you." 

"  Han't  you  got  no  other  boys?  " 

"  No,  my  son.     I  've  got  darters,  but  no  boys." 

"  I  suppose  he  has  gone  to  live  with  God.  in  his  beautiful 
home ;  and  you  will  go  and  see  him  some  time.  My  papa  is 
there  and  Carra,  and  they  have  white  robes.  Did  you  know* 


GLENWOOD.  882 

it  ?  I  have  seen  them,  and  they  were  more  beautiful  than 
the  roses.  I  am  going  there." 

"  There,  there,  child,  don't  talk  in  that  are  wa^  !  It  was 
jest  so  with  my  boy, — allus  a  talkin'  of  God  an'  the  angels. 
His  mother  thinks  he  'sperienced  afore  he  was  five  years 
old ;  "  and  Mr.  Penly  pulled  out  his  large  bandanna,  and 
applied  it  to  his  eyes. 

It  being  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when  Mr.  Penly  came, 
he  was  persuaded  to  remain  until  the  next  morning,  when  he 
returned  home,  well  pleased  with  his  visit. 

The  next  week,  Mrs.  Lund,  Miss  Whiting,  Willie,  and 
Waldo,  went  to  the  wedding  of  Hattie  Penly.  There  was  a 
large  company  present,  and  everybody  was  charmed  with  the 
loveliness  of  the  bride,  while  they  no  less  admired  the  fine, 
manly  appearance  of  the  groom.  The  happy  pair  were 
united  by  the  village  parson,  who  kissed  the  bride  as  soon 
as  the  nuptial  knot  was  tied,  and  introduced  her  to  the 
company  as  Mrs.  Hattie  Wattles.  All  the  gentlemen  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  the  clergyman ;  and  the  ladies,  not  to 
be  outdone  by  the  other  sex  on  such  an  occasion,  kissed 
the  bridegroom.  Feasting  and  merry-making  ensued,  which 
was  kept  up  until  nearly  morning.  Mr.  Penly  brought  out 
the  large  brass  kettle,  in  which,  to  please  him,  Sarah  danced ; 
and  the  old  gentleman  shook  his  sides  with  laughter,  the 
guests  uniting  in  the  merriment. 

Mr.  Charles  Wattles  was  a  farmer,  and  a  citizen  of  Felton ; 
and  so  Hattie  found  a  new  home  in  her  own  town,  but  a  few 
miles  from  her  father's. 

The  day  after  the  wedding,  our  Stetson  friends  returned 
home.  When  the  weather  permitted,  Willie  was  engaged 
with  the  hired  man  in  cutting  and  drawing  up  wood.  On 


384  GLENWOOD. 

stormy  days  he  read  to  Mrs.  Lund  and  Miss  Whiting,  or 
played  and  chatted  with  Waldo.  In  the  evening  they  con- 
versed upon  interesting  or  amusing  subjects,  read  aloud 
alternately, —  for  they  were  all  good  readers, —  and  now 
and  then  attended  a  party,  concert,  or  lecture. 

Waldo  was  generally  a  source  of  happiness  to  them ;  hut 
he  sometimes  made  them  sad,  and  especially  his  mother. 
He  seemed  never  so  happy  as  when  conversing  of  the  un- 
seen things  of  eternity,  excepting  when  he  saw  that  his 
words  brought  sorrow  to  his  mother's  heart.  Towards  the 
close  of  winter,  he  became  paler,  and  there  was  a  brighter, 
clearer  look  to  his  eyes.  Their  expression  was  very  beau- 
tiful, partaking  more  of  heaven  than  earth. 

In  the  month  of  March  there  came  a  warm  rain-storm, 
which  melted  nearly  all  the  snow.  It  was  at  night  when 
the  rain  ceased  falling  and  the  clouds  were  dispersed.  The 
next  morning,  when  the  sun  rose,  it  lit  up  a  scene  which 
rivalled  the  splendors  of  the  East.  The  frost-spirits  had  been 
at  work  covering  all  the  trees  and  shrubs  with  icy  crystals, 
and  the  spectacle  was  indeed  wondrously  beautiful  and  gor- 
geous. The  rain  had  carried  off  the  snow,  but  the  ground 
was  white  with  frost ;  and  the  air,  though  sharp  and  chilly, 
yet  had  a  touch  like  the  breath  of  spring.  The  first 
feathered  songsters  of  the  season  were  heard  in  Stetson  on 
this  morning. 

"  The  robin,  bard  of  birds,  whose  ardent  hymn 
Swells  out  upon  his  radiant  breast  of  flame," 

was  singing  as  though  he  had  caught  inspiration  from  the 
strange  beauty  which  filled  the  world.  Mingling  with  his 
notes  was  the  song  of  the  blue-bird,  each  tone  clear  and 


GLENWOOD.  88i> 

sweet.  The  earth  seemed  as  beautiful  as  paradise,  and  the 
woods  were  great  crystal  palaces,  crowded  with  the  brightest 
gems  and  a  thousand  forms  of  beauty. 

Willie  Cunard  arose  early,  and,  catching  from  his  win- 
dow a  glimpse  of  the  glorious  scenery,  he  awoke  Waldo,  and 
invited  him  to  a  walk. 

"  0 !  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  as  soon  as  he  had  stepped 
from  the  door. 

"  Is  not  this  beautiful  ?  "  said  Willie. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  am  awake,"  said  Waldo.  "  I  never 
saw  such  a  scene  as  this  when  I  was  awake.  I  guess  I  must 
be  dreaming  —  dreaming  that  I  am  in  heaven,  and  Will'  3 
is  with  me." 

"  This  is  no  dream,  Wallie,  but  reality.  You  know  the 
buildings,  if  other  things  look  unnatural." 

"  Yes,  Willie ;  that  is  our  house,  but  I  never  saw  trees 
look  so  before.  I  should  think  the  fairies  or  Santa  Glaus 
had  come  in  the  night  and  hung  the  boughs  with  all  the 
prettiest  things  in  the  world.  Hark  !  the  robin  is  singing. 
How  came  he  here  ?  I  have  not  heard  any  robins  since  last 
year." 

"  He  has  come  to  tell  us  that  spring  is  approaching. 
The  rain  has  melted  the  snow,  and  this  morning  the  sun  is 
warm,  and  so  the  birds  have  come  witli  their  songs." 

"How  queer  it  is!  I  have  dreamed  of  trees  which  were 
covered  with  jewels  and  crystals,  where  the  birds  sang  in 
the  laughing  mornings;  but  it  was  not  here,  but  far,  far 
away.  It  was  a  beautiful  land.  I  was  so  happy  to  be 
there,  Willie !  and  now,  when  I  am  so  tired,  I  wish  I  could 
go  there.  But  I  suppose  mamma  can't  spare  me." 

"  No,  darling ;  for  you  are  dearer  to  her  than  her  own 
33 


386  GLENWOOD. 

life.  And  so  the  beautiful  scenes  there  were  more  lovely 
than  this  ?  " 

u  0  !  a  great  deal  more.  But  this  seems  like  them. 
Just  look  at  the  woods,  Willie ;  how  they  do  glisten, —  they 
look  just  like  the  woods  in  heaven !  " 

"  I  fancy  the  trees  there  are  green." 

"I  dreamed  they  were,  sometimes,  and  sometimes  like 
these.  I  would  like  to  go  into  the  woods." 

"  And  so  would  I,  Waldo ;  but  our  walk  must  not  be  long, 
for  breakfast  will  soon  be  ready ;  and,  besides,  you  soon  be- 
come weary." 

"  I  know  I  do,  dear  Willie.  I  don't  know  what  makes 
me  get  so  tired  :  I  did  not  use  to,  last  summer.  I  am  so 
glad  that  I  have  you  to  carry  me  sometimes,  when  my  legs 
ache  so !  Mamma  likes  to  carry  me,  but  she  is  not  so 
strong  as  you  are." 

"  No,  dear;  but  here  we  are  in  the  woods.  Are  they  not 
beautiful  ?  This  must  be  the  crystal  palace  of  the  giants. 
Just  see  how  many  kinds  of  gems  there  are,  and  how  many 
strange  forms  of  beauty !  " 

"  All  beautiful ;  but  how  came  the  trees  to  be  so,  Willie  ? 
They  were  not  so  last  night." 

"  It  was  quite  warm  yesterday.  In  the  night  the  weath- 
er changed,  and  it  became  colder ;  but  the  rain  continued  to 
fall  some  time  after  the  wind  had  changed  from  the  south  to 
the  west,  and  so  the  drops  were  frozen  as  they  fell ;  the  re- 
sult is  the  glorious  scene  which  we  have  all  around  us." 

"  And  so  this  is  nothing  but  frozen  rain,  and  the  sun 
will  soon  melt  it,  and  then  the  beauty  will  all  be  gone ! 
Hark  !  the  icicles  are  falling  now.  0  !  what  a  crash  thai 
was!  That  one  like  to  have  struck  you,  and  me,  too." 


QLBNWOOD.  387 

"  The  sun  is  so  warm,  that  it  will  soon  bring  them  all 
down,  and  it  will  be  rather  dangerous  remaining  here,  so  we 
will  return  home ;  besides,  it  is  breakfast-time,  and  we  ought 
not  to  keep  them  waiting." 

"We'll  have  to  run,  I  guess. —  That  one  hit  me  !  Do 
you  know  I  think  the  fairies  are  up  in  the  trees,  throwing 
their  diamonds  at  us,  to  drive  us  out  of  their  castle  ! " 

"  You  have  strange  fancies,  Wallie ;  but  that  is  a  pleasant 
one,  if  it  don't  get  spoiled." 

"  How  can  it  get  spoiled  ?  " 

"If  we  should  stay  here  long  enough,  some  of  those 
large  diamonds,  which  hang  so  high,  might  strike  you  hard 
enough  to  knock  all  the  poetry  out  of  your  head,  changing 
the  pleasant  fiction  to  unpleasant  fact,  and  the  roving  fan- 
cies to  sober  realities.  Our  giant  palaces  arid  fairy  castles 
filled  with  gems,  which  were  tossed  down  by  beautiful  invis- 
ible creatures,  would  suddenly  become  tall  trees  covered 
with  icicles,  which  the  warm  sun  loosened,  so  that  they 
tumbled  down  upon  us,  almost  breaking  our  pates." 

"  I  am  glad  we  have  got  out  of  the  castle,  for  that 
would  spoil  it  all ;  one  piece  did  hurt  my  arm.  Now  they 
go  crash,  crash,  all  of  the  time.  The  birds  won't  dare  go 
in  there,  now." 

At  this  moment  they  heard  the  ring  of  the  breakfast-bell, 
which  hastened  their  steps,  Waldo's  tongue  moving  all  the 
while  as  nimbly  as  his  feet.  They  soon  reached  the  house. 
With  cheerful  hearts  they  sat  down  to  a  repast,  which  waa 
eaten  with  the  greater  relish  because  of  their  early  morn- 
ing walk. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

MISS  WHITING'S  STORY.  —  THE  EARLY  MARRIAGE  OF  HER  MOTHER.  — 
LOSS  OF  HER  HUSBAND. MARRIES  AGAIN. CAPT.  CLINTON  SHIP- 
WRECKED.  IS  MADE  A  SLAVE.  AFTER  EIGHT  YEARS*  CAPTIVITY, 

IS  RANSOMED. RETURNS  HOME. A  THRILLING  SCENE. RE-UNION. 

ONE  rainy  day,  soon  after  this,  Mrs.  Lund  expressed  a 
wish  that  Miss  Whiting  would  relate  the  history  of  her 
parents,  for  there  had  always  been  a  mystery  in  relation  to 
the  matter,  which  she  could  not  fathom. 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Miss  Whiting,  "  as  the  tale  will  be  at 
all  interesting ;  but,  if  you  both  wish  me  to  tell  it,  I  will  do 
so,  though  many  things  in  it  are  very  painful  to  me. 

"  My  mother's  maiden  name  was  Mary  Dana.  She  was 
married  in  early  life  to  Capt.  James  Clinton,  a  seafaring 
man,  whom  she  loved  very  dearly.  A  few  months  after 
their  marriage  he  sailed  on  a  foreign  voyage,  and  during  a 
violent  storm  his  vessel  was  wrecked,  and  the  account  of  the 
wreck  stated  that  all  on  board  perished. 

"  Capt.  Clinton  was  a  noble-looking  man,  the  very  soul  of 
honor,  and  as  tenderly  attached  to  my  mother  as  she  was  to 
him.  He  was  young,  and  he  left  her  but  little  property. 
So  prostrated  was  she  by  this  terrible  affliction,  blighting,  as 
she  then  supposed,  all  her  youthful  hopes  forever,  that  she 
lost  all  ambition,  and  she  was  only  aroused  from  her  lethargy 


GLENWOOD.  389 

by  realizing  that  she  had  spent  the  last  dollar  she  had  in  the 
world.  She  had  no  relatives  to  whom  she  was  willing  to 
apply  for  aid ;  for,  had  they  been  able  to  help  her,  her  pride 
would  have  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  living  upon  their 
bounty.  As  she  had  good  household  furniture,  she  resolved 
to  maintain  herself  by  keeping  a  boarding-house.  After  she 
had  matured  her  plan,  she  immediately  carried  it  into  execu- 
tion; and,  being  an  excellent  manager,  a  good  cook,  and 
scrupulously  neat,  she  soon  had  as  many  boarders  as  she 
desired. 

"  At  this  period,  my  father,  who  resided  in  the  city,  went 
into  the  country  for  his  health.  He  was  then  quite  wealthy. 
Being  pleased  with  the  neat  little  village  where  my  mother 
resided,  he  decided  to  remain  there  through  the  summer,  if 
he  could  obtain  a  suitable  boarding-place.  He  found  the 
desired  accommodations  at  her  house.  He  was  a  bachelor, 
and  he  soon  became  interested  in  the  young  widow,  which 
finally  resulted  in  an  offer  of  marriage.  In  taking  this  step, 
he  was  actuated  by  the  noblest  motives.  His  interest  was 
first  awakened  by  learning  of  her  deep  grief,  and  how 
severely  she  was  compelled  to  tax  her  energies  to  maintain 
herself  respectably. 

"  When  he  had  sufficiently  gained  her  confidence,  he  heard 
from  her  own  lips  the  loss  she  had  sustained,  and  how  much 
she  had  suffered,  and  how  intense  were  her  heart-sorrows 
still.  She  received  from  him  more  sympathy  than  from  any 
one  else,  and  she  was  not  ungrateful.  They  frequently 
walked  and  rode  together,  and  in  the  company  of  my  father 
she  was  in  a  measure  restored  to  happiness.  He  did  much 
to  relieve  her  from  care,  perplexity,  and  trouble,  and  when 
she  became  more  cheerful  he  felt  that  he  loved  her. 
33* 


390  GLENWOOD. 

"  The  offer  of  marriage  was  not  altogether  unexpected  to 
my  mother ;  for  his  devoted  attentions  manifested  a  regard 
warmer  than  that  of  a  brother ;  but  it  nevertheless  placed 
her  in  a  painful  position.  She  had  received  his  first  atten- 
tions when  she  could  not  have  anticipated  such  a  result. 
She  had  unreservedly  unburthened  her  heart  to  him,  and  he 
knew  how  fondly  attached  she  had  been  to  her  husband,  and 
how  heart-broken  she  was  at  his  loss.  Being  so  lonely,  so 
wretched,  why  should  she  not  receive  the  sympathy  which 
was  so  kindly,  so  unselfishly,  tendered  to  her?  " 

"From  my  own  experience,"  said  Jeannie,  glancing  at 
Willie,  "  I  can  well  conceive  how  much  she  needed  a  friend." 

"  By  and  by,"  Miss  Whiting  continued,  "  his  attentions 
were  of  a  more  marked  character,  and  yet  she  knew  not 
how  to  decline  them. 

"  As  I  have  already  informed  you,  the  tender  of  his  heart 
and  hand  did  not  at  all  surprise  her,  and  yet  she  knew  not 
what  answer  to  give.  He  had  been  so  very  kind  to  her, 
that  she  shrank  from  the  thought  of  causing  him  pain.  But, 
should  she  marry  him  ?  That  was  a  question  she  knew  not 
how  to  answer.  She  had  a  strong  desire  to  do  that  which 
was  perfectly  right  and  just.  She  knew  well  enough  that, 
if  she  gave  her  hand,  her  heart  would  not  go  with  it.  But 
she  highly  respected  my  father, —  and  many  said  that  was 
enough  ;  she  admired  his  noble  qualities,  his  clear,  vigor- 
ous mind,  and  his  whole-hearted  goodness ;  and  yet,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  she  could  not  love  him." 

"  As  he  possessed  the  very  qualities  which  she  so  much 
admired,"  said  Willie,  "  one  would  naturally  suppose  that 
in  time  she  might  have  become  very  devotedly  attached  to 
Mm." 


&LENWOOD.  391 

"  Attached  as  a  friend,"  said  Miss  Whiting,  "  but  nothing 
more.  I  have  always  believed  that  true  matches  are  made 
in  heaven ;  and,  if  so,  the  existence  on  earth  of  those  who 
rightly  belong  to  us  is  sufficient  to  prevent  the  forming  of 
other  ties  which  result  in  true  marriage.  We  may  be  un- 
able to  conceive  of  such  an  influence.  The  two  may  be 
separated  by  thousands  of  miles,  and  one  may  believe  the 
other  dead.  With  the  majority,  under  such  circumstances, 
it  would  be  decided  at  once  that  one  or  both  might  love  as 
freely  as  they  ever  had  done.  But  I  disagree  with  them. 
I  believe  that  a  subtile  matter,  or  something,  I  know  not 
how  to  express  it,  is  continually  e"manating  from  one  to  the 
other,  producing  an  effect  which  they  themselves  are  un- 
aware of." 

"I  have  long  believed  the  same  thing,"  said  Jeannie ; 
"  and  I  see  no  reason  as  yet  for  changing  my  faith." 

"My  mother,"  Miss  Whiting  continued,  "did  not  feel  it 
so  great  a  sin  to  give  the  hand  without  the  heart  went  with 
it,  as  I  do.  She  was  not  fully  persuaded  that  such  marriages 
were  quite  right,  but  she  knew  that  Mr.  Whiting  would  be 
very  kind  to  her,  and  give  her  a  good  home ;  and,  after  due 
deliberation,  she  gave  him  the  answer  that  he  desired.  The 
following  winter  they  were  married,  and  my  mother's  hum- 
ble country  home  was  exchanged  for  an  elegant  residence  in 
the  city. 

"  I  was  born  about  a  year  after  their  marriage.  My  child- 
hood days  were  beautiful.  I  had  an  elegant  home,  the  most 
doting  parents,  and  everything  that  a  child  could  reasonably 
desire.  But  there  were  times  when  I  was  not  quite  happy; 
for  my  mother  was  so  often  melancholy,  and  when  she  was 
sc  it  produced  a  depression  upon  the  spirits  of  my  father. 


392  QLENWOOD. 

I  often  found  her  in  tears ;  and  when  I  wished  to  know  why 
she  wept,  she  said  she  could  not  tell  me,  and  I  must  not 
ask.  Here  was  a  mystery  which  I  continually  pondered  in 
my  mind.  Why  should  both  of  my  parents  be  so  unhappy, 
and  especially  my  dear  mother?  This  made  me  a  very 
thoughtful  child.  At  school,  I  learned  with  little  effort, 
invariably  taking  the  head  of  my  class.  At  the  period  when 
the  great  crisis  came  to  my  young  life,  I  think  that  I  may  say, 
without  incurring  the  charge  of  egotism,  that,  though  but  a 
child  in  years,  I  had,  in  many  respects,  the  understanding 
of  a  young  woman. 

"  Capt.  Clinton  sailed  from  New  York  for  Macao,  in 
China,  and  his  vessel  was  wrecked  at  the  island  of  Pinang. 
He  was  the  only  survivor,  having  the  good  fortune  to  be 
thrown  senseless  upon  the  shore.  In  a  brief  time  after  he 
had  been  restored  to  consciousness,  he  was  taken  prisoner  by 
the  Malays,  who  made  him  a  slave,  heaping  every  indignity 
upon  him  which  is  incident  to  such  a  degraded,  unnatural 
state.  He  was  traded  from  one  to  another  a  number  of 
times ;  and,  so  barbarously  was  he  treated  by  some  of  hia 
masters,  that  he  was  frequently  tempted  to  bring  his  suffer- 
ings to  an  end  by  taking  his  own  life. 

"  In  this  condition  he  remained  eight  years.  Midst  all 
his  trials  he  did  not  forget  his  young  wife  he  had  left  at 
home.  He  hoped  that  he  might  have  the  good  fortune  to 
return  to  America,  and  press  his  bosom  companion  once 
more  to  his  heart.  But,  as  years  passed  away,  he  trembled 
lest  in  his  long  absence  she  should  marry  another.  This 
thought  troubled  him  continually,  and  he  at  last  became 
firmly  persuaded  that  she  was  again  a  wedded  wife. 


GLENWOOD.  893 

"  After  remaining  in  captivity  eight  years,  he  was  sold  to 
a  man  who  lived  in  Malacca,  where  he  was  ransomed  by  one 
of  his  own  countrymen,  with  whom  he  returned  to  America. 
As  soon  as  he  arrived,  he  set  off,  without  delay,  for  the  town 
where  he  had  left  my  mother.  He  there  learned  that  she 
had  been  married  for  many  years,  and  resided  in  Boston 
He  was  so  disguised  by  a  heavy  beard  that  no  one  recognized 
him,  and  so  he  kept  his  own  counsel.  To  Boston  he  went, 
without  delay,  and,  having  obtained  board  at  a  hotel,  he 
resolved  to  make  himself  known  to  his  wife.  He  felt  that 
she  rightly  belonged  to  him  ;  but  still,  if  she  chose  to  remain 
with  the  man  to  whom  she  had  been  united  in  good  faith,  he 
would  wish  her  naught  but  happiness,  bid  her  farewell,  and 
leave  his  country  forever. 

"  Capt.  Clinton  had  been  so  long  a  slave,  and  being 
now  almost  heart-broken  by  this  new  misfortune,  a  number 
of  weeks  passed  away  ere  he  could  summon  sufficient  cour- 
age to  visit  my  mother.  I  was  seven  years  old  on  the  day 
he  came.  I  remember  that  my  mother  had  been  weeping 
more  violently  than  I  had  ever  witnessed  in  her  before. 

"  When  the  bell  rang,  I  went  to  the  door.  A  fine-look- 
ing man,  with  a  sad  cast  of  countenance,  stood  before  me. 
He  inquired  if  Mr.  Whiting  resided  there.  I  answered 
that  he  did. 

"  '  Is  Mrs.  Whiting  within?  '  he  asked. 

"  '  She  is,'  I  replied. 

"  '  I  would  like  to  see  her,'  ho  said. 

"  I  invited  him  in.  My  mother  was  near  enough  to  hear 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  she  exclaimed,  '  My  God  !  ' 
Springing  up  and  running  into  the  hall,  she  cried,  '  James  ! 
James !  '  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms  and  fainted 


394  GLEN  WOOD. 

Capt.  Clinton  laid  her  down  upon  a  sofa,  and,  calling  for 
water,  he  sprinkled  her  face,  and  then  chafed  her  forehead 
and  her  hands,  frequently  calling  her  by  name.  '  Mary, 
dear  Mary ! '  he  would  say  ;  and  when  she  was  returning  to 
consciousness,  he  kneeled  by  her  side,  and  pressed  his  lips  to 
hers. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  that  this  conduct  excited  in  my 
mind  the  greatest  surprise  and  indignation,  and  I  felt  like 
springing  upon  him  and  dragging  him  from  the  presence  of 
my  mother,  and  throwing  him  headlong  into  the  street.  If 
I  had  possessed  the  requisite  strength,  I  should  have  done  it. 

"  My  surprise  was  still  more  heightened  when  I  saw  my 
mother  return  his  caresses,  wind  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  weep  upon  his  bosom.  What  could  it  all  mean  ?  What 
would  my  father  say  if  he  knew  all  this  ?  Who  was  this 
man  ?  I  wanted  this  dark  mystery  solved. .  I  felt  that  'a 
great  calamity  had  befallen  me.  and  I  went  away  by  my- 
Belf,  and  wept  as  bitterly  as  I  had  ever  seen  my  mother. 

"  My  father  soon  returned,  and  the  moment  I  heard  his 
footsteps,  I  hastened  to  meet  him.  He  saw  that  I  had  been 
weeping,  and  he  said  : 

"  'What!  your  eyes  full  of  tears,  Sarah?  What  great 
sorrow  has  come  upon  my  little  girl,  that  she  should  weep  ? ' 

"  I  did  not  reply  for  I  could  not;  but  I  took  his  hand,  and 
almost  dragged  him  into  the  presence  of  my  mother  and  the 
stranger.  She  arose  when  he  entered,  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

"  '  This  —  is  — '  she  said  ;  but  she  could  go  no  further, 
and  she  sank  weeping  upon  the  sofa. 

"  '  What  does  all  this  mean  ?'  said  my  father,  much  agi- 
tated. 


OLE  N  WOOD. 

"  The  stranger  now  arose  and  said, 

"'Is  this  Mr.  Whiting?' 

"  '  It  is,  sir,'  replied  my  father.  '  And  by  what  name 
shall  I  call  you  ?  '  after  a  painful  pause. 

"  '  I  —  I  am  Capt.  Clinton,'  said  the  stranger. 

"'Good  God!'  exclaimed  my  father,  sinking  into  a 
chair,  his  face  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

"  The  suspense  was  now  painful,  indeed,  for  no  one  in 
the  room  felt  like  uttering  a  word.  My  father  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"  '  Capt.  Clinton,'  he  said,  painfully,  '  I  presume  that  I 
understand  it  all  now ;  you  claim  the  lady  who  sits  by  your 
side  as  your  wife.' 

"  '  Mr.  Whiting,'  said  Capt.  Clinton,  '  many  years  ago 
I  sought  and  won  her  love.  We  were  married,  and  a  few 
months  afterwards  I  sailed  for  China.  I  was  shipwrecked, 
thrown  upon  an  island,  and  made  a  slave.  My  wife  thought 
me  dead,  and  she  married  you.  Alone,  heart-broken,  with- 
out property,  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame  her, 
though  God  knows  I  would  have  found  her  as  I  left  her. 
She  tells  me  that  you  were  very  kind  to  her,  and  she 
thought  it  best  to  become  your  wife.  I  went  away  a  strong 
man,  full  of  bright  hope  for  the  future ;  I  have  returned 
in  weakness  and  poverty.  Mary  has  an  elegant  home  now, 
—  better,  perhaps,  than  I  could  ever  have  given  her.  And 
there  is  a  tie  that  binds  you  together  that  does  not  exist  be- 
tween us.  You  have  a  child ;  this  girl,  Mary  has  informed 
me,  is  your  daughter.'  Here  Capt.  Clinton  ceased  speak- 
ing, for  strong  emotions  choked  his  utterance. 

"  'I  surmise  the  nature  of  what  you  were  about  to  say,' 
remarked  my  father.  '  I  know  that  there  is  a  tie  between 


GLENWOOD. 

us  that  does  not  exist  between  you  ;  a  tie  which  would  ren- 
der a  separation  painful ;  but  there  may  be  a  stronger  tic 
between  you.  I  have  loved  Mary  dearly,  but  I  doubt 
whether  she  has  ever  truly  loved  me  ;  her  first  love  has 
continued  with  all  its  original  strength,  and  so  she  has 
never  been  happy  here.  Capt.  Clinton,  she  is  rightly  yours ; 
and  if  she  feels  that  she  can  be  happier  with  you,  I  will  not 
place  one  obstacle  in  the  way  of  her  wishes.' 

"  '  0,  thou  good,  good  man  ! '  said  my  mother,  going  to 
my  father ;  and,  kneeling  at  his  feet,  she  covered  his  hand 
with  kisses.  He  gently  raised  her  up,  and  seated  her  again 
upon  the  sofa. 

"  <  Mr.  Whiting,'  said  Capt.  Clinton,  { it  is  true  that  I 
have  a  prior  claim,  but  I  will  not  urge  that.  I  love  Mary 
as  I  never  can  love  another ;  but,  if  she  can  be  happier  with 
you  than  to  share  my  humble  lot,  no  word  of  remonstrance 
or  censure  shall  pass  my  lips.  I  can  offer  nothing  but  pov- 
erty now,  and  here  she  has  a  luxurious  home.  Moreover, 
if  you  are  separated,  your  child  must  suffer,  and  one  of 
you,  perchance,  never  see  her  face  again.  If  Mary  chooses 
to  remain,  I  will  take  my  departure  immediately,  to  return 
no  more  forever.' 

"'Which  shall  it  be,  Mary?'  said  my  father,  with  a 
forced  calmness  of  manner.  '  Will  you  remain  with  me,  or 
go  with  Capt.  Clinton  ?  ' 

"  'I  must  not,  cannot  remain,'  she  replied;  'I  must  go 
with  James,  for  I  love  him  alone.  He  is  more  than  all  the 
world  to  me.  And,  then,  how  he  has  suffered  since  we  were 
separated  !  — Think  of  those  long  years  of  cruel  captivity  ! 
But,  Mr.  Whiting,  will  you  let  me  have  our  child  ?  ' 

"  '  Mrs.  Clinton,'  said  my  father,  '  is  it  not  cruel  in  you 


OLENWOOD.  397 

to  ask  me  to  give  her  up  also  ?  You  go  with  the  husband  of 
your  love  ;  and  if  you  should  take  Sarah,  I  should  be  left 
alone  ! ' 

"  '  I  know  it  —  I  know  it ;  but  I  do  love  her  so  ! ' 

"  '  Not  more  dearly  than  her  father.  But,  as  it  was  left 
for  you  to  choose,  so  shall  it  be  left  for  her.' 

"  '  Sarah,'  said  my  mother,  '  will  you  go  with  me  ? ' 

"  While  this  strange  scene  was  passing,  I  had  sat  like  one 
stupefied ;  and  yet  I  had  not  lost  a  single  word,  and  I  under- 
stood the  import  of  them  all. 

"  '  Your  mother  is  to  leave  me,'  said  my  father,  as  I  rose 
to  my  feet,  '  and  I  cannot  blame  her.  All  my  affections 
are  now  centred  in  you  ;  but,  if  you  choose  to  go  with  her, 
your  father  will  give  you  his  blessing,  and  will  love  you  still.' 

"  My  mother  held  out  her  hand,  and  I  took  it ;  she  stooped 
to  kiss  me,  and  I  wound  my  arms  around  her  neck  in  a  lov- 
ing embrace.  I  then  tore  myself  from  her,  and  sprang  into 
my  father's  arms,  clinging  convulsively  to  his  bosom.  He 
pressed  me  closely  to  his  heart,  and  said,  '  My  own  dear 
child,  you  are  more  to  me  than  all  the  world  beside.  I  shall 
not  be  utterly  desolate,  for  you  will  cheer  your  father's 
aching  breast.' 

"  '  Mary,'  he  said,  with  much  emotion,  '  farewell,  and  may 
God's  blessing  go  with  you  ! ' 

"'Farewell!'  she  said,  wringing  his  hand;  'you  have 
been  very  faithful  to  me,  and  I  pray  you  think  kindly  of  me 
when  I  am  gone  ! ' 

"My  father  now  went  to  his  chamber,  and  my  mother 
soon  left.  Ere  many  weeks  Captain  Clinton  sailed,  taking 
my  mother  with  him;  and  I  have  never  seen  her  since." 

"  Are  they  still  living?  "  inquired  Willie. 
34 


898  GLENWOOD. 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it.  I  have  corresponded  with 
my  mother,  but  we  have  not  written  often.  She  has  assured 
me  that  she  is  very  happy,  and  that  prosperity  has  attended 
the  efforts  of  her  husband.  They  have  three  children." 

"  Where  do  they  live  now?  "  inquired  Jeannie. 

"  In  Wisconsin.  Captain  Clinton  became  weary  of  a  life 
on  the  ocean, —  so  much  of  the  time  separated  from  his 
family, —  and  so  he  purchased  a  farm  in  that  vigorous  young 
state." 

"  Your  father,"  said  Jeannie,  "  must  have  been  a  great 
sufferer." 

"  It  was  a  cruel  blow,  and  he  never  recovered  from  its 
effects.  I  suffered  bitterly,  for  I  loved  my  mother  dearly, 
and  I  knew  that  she  loved  me  ;  but  my  father  was  completely 
broken  down.  At  much  sacrifice  he  settled  up  his  affairs,  and 
relinquished  business  entirely.  For  some  years  after,  we 
travelled  much  of  the  time  during  the  pleasant  part  of  the 
season.  I  did  all  that  I  could  to  cheer  him,  and  make  him 
forget  his  great  misfortune.  I  believe  that  I  succeeded  in  a 
measure,  but  he  never  seemed  as  he  did  before.  As  his 
property  was  not  large,  we  expended  the  interest  and  more 
or  less  of  the  principal  every  year,  until  we  became  so  re- 
duced in  circumstances  that  strict  economy  was  requisite  to 
keep  the  wolf  from  the  door.  My  education  had  not  been 
neglected  ;  and  when  I  was  seventeen,  desiring  to  do  some- 
thing to  earn  my  own  livelihood,  I  went  to  Yamford  to  teach, 
where  I  was  so  happy,  Jeannie,  as  to  have  you  for  a  pupil. 
When  my  father  died,  only  a  few  hundred  dollars  of  his  once 
handsome  property  remained,  and  his  child,  whom  he  loved 
so  well,  was  so  very  fortunate  as  to  find  a  home  with  you  " 

"  And  I  am  equally  fortunate  in  having  you  in  my 
family,"  said  Mrs.  Lund. 


GLENWOOD.  399 

"Your  story,"  said  Willie,  "  is  very  affecting  and  inter- 
esting. I  have  heard  of  such  things  before,  and  one  case 
where  the  wife  chose  to  remain  with  the  last  husband." 

"  Which  proves,"  said  Mrs.  Lund,  "  that  she  never  truly 
loved  the  first." 

"  So  I  should  say,"  said  Miss  Whiting. 

"  Have  you  written  to  your  mother  of  your  father's 
death  ?  "  inquired  Jeannie. 

"  Some  time  since,  but  have  received  no  answer  yet." 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  see  your  mother  ?  "  said  Willie. 

"  I  should  very  much,  though  I  can  scarcely  expect  to 
recognize  her,  or  that  she  will  recognize  me.  But  I  remem- 
ber how  well  I  loved  her,  and  how  kind  and  indulgent  she 
always  was.  Yes,  I  would  see  her  again." 

"  Captain  Clinton,  I  think,"  said  Willie,  "  acted  very 
nobly." 

"  He  did,  and  I  shall  also  be  glad  to  see  him,  though  he 
robbed  me.  by  taking  his  own,  of  a  mother's  care,  at  a  time 
of  life  when  I  very  much  needed  it." 

"The  child,"  said  Mrs.  Lund,  "though  long  separated, 
still  yearns  for  the  mother  who  pillowed  the  infant  head 
upon  her  own  bosom.  May  you  be  so  happy  as  to  meet 
yours  again  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  my  friend,  for  such  has  long  been  my  own 
prayer." 

"  Did  your  mother  go  away  from  you  when  you  was  a 
little  girl?"  inquired  Waldo. 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"Too  bad!  I  should  cry  my  eyes  out,  if  mine  should 
leave  me."  And  then  he  looked  fondly  into  his  mother's 
face,  and  said,  "  We  are  but  two,  mamma !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  PROPOSAL. REASON  FOR  HOPE. 

WE  have  said  that  Willie  was  happy  and  contented ;  but, 
as  weeks  and  months  fled  away,  he  began  to  learn  that  this 
platonic  love  was  insufficient  for  a  nature  like  his.  The 
question  frequently  presented  itself  to  his  mind,  whether 
Mrs.  Lund  loved  him,  or  regarded  him  only  as  a  friend.  He 
knew  his  affection  for  her  was  deep  and  lasting,  having  stood 
the  test  of  years,  years  in  which  there  was  no  hope.  And 
now,  living  under  the  same  roof,  beholding  the  beauty  of  her 
daily  life,  his  love  increased  in  intensity,  until  he  felt  that 
he  could  not  live  thus  —  she  must  be  his,  faithful  devotion 
at  last  find  its  reward. 

But  the  avowal  of  his  passion  might  be  attended  with  re- 
sults by  no  means  desirable.  If  she  could  not  return  his 
affection,  he  must  leave  her  forever.  Better  hazard  all,  he 
thought,  than  remain  always  in  painful  suspense.  He  re- 
solved that  henceforth  he  would  not  put  a  restraint  upon  the 
emotions  of  his  heart,  but  let  them  be  freely  manifested ;  so 
he  became  more  attentive,  and  showed  more  palpably  than 
ever  before  what  his  true  feelings  were. 

Mrs.  Lund  was  not  blind,  and  she  soon  perceived  that  his 
regard  was  more  than  that  of  a  brother.  To  know  this,  gave 
her  pleasure,  and  yet  it  gave  her  pain.  The  thought  of 


QLENWOOD.  403 

marrying  again  had  scarcely  ever  entered  her  mind ;  she 
wanted  Willie  for  a  friend,  not  a  lover ;  and  yet,  with  admi- 
rable consistency,  she  could  not  have  borne  the  thought  that 
he  should  marry  another. 

On  a  balmy  moonlight  evening  in  May,  Willie  expressed 
a  wish  for  her  company;  for  he  had  important  things  to  say, 
which  must  not  be  heard  by  any  ear  but  hers.  She  could 
not  say  nay  to  this  request,  and  tremblingly  seated  herself 
by  his  side.  They  were  in  the  drawing-room,  which  was 
lighted  now  by  the  lamps  of  heaven  alone.  He  took  her 
hand, —  that  hand  which  sent  a  thrill  to  his  heart  the  first 
time  he  ever  felt  its  touch, —  and  said  : 

"  Jeannie,  I  have  serious  words  which  I  would  say  to  you; 
and,  though  I  would  not,  yet  I  may  give  offence." 

"  No,  Willie,  you  cannot  give  offence.  I  am  not  afraid 
of  that,  whatever  you  may  utter.  I  can  conceive  of  your 
giving  me  pain,  but  you  never  will  offend  me." 

"  I  hope  not.  And  I  would  not  cause  you  pain,  and  yet 
I  may.  Shall  I  speak  freely,  Jeannie?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  feel  it  for  the  best." 

"I  do;  and  I  have  long  felt  it,  or  I  would  not  utter  a 
word.  There  are  thoughts  which  may  be  kept  for  a  season 
shut  into  the  heart,  as  it  were,  but  in  time  they  become  a 
source  of  pain,  anxious  and  wakeful  hours ;  and  then  they 
had  better  be  spoken,  even  though  they  cause  for  a  season, 
a  sharper  grief." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I  would  have  you  freely  unburthen 
your  mind,  hoping  that  it  may  not  be  the  cause  of  sorrow  or 
disappointment  to  either  of  us." 

"  I  would  fain  hope  so  too,  and  yet  I  fear.  My  hope  is 
not  large,  and  never  has  been.  I  am  so  accustomed  to  dis- 
34* 


402  GLENWOOD. 

appointments,  that  I  can  bear  them,  even  though  they  crush 
the  heart." 

After  a  pause.  "  Jeannie,  you  remember  well  the  first 
time  you  ever  saw  the  poor-house  boy  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Willie ;  and  his  sad,  dejected  look  went  to  rny  heart. 
I  have  never  seen  any  other  child  who  had  such  an  expres- 
sion upon  his  countenance  as  you  had  then.  Do  you  know 
that  I  sometimes  fancy  that  I  see  something  of  that  look  in 
your  face  even  now  ?  " 

' '  If  my  face  spoke  plainly  the  feelings  of  my  heart,  its 
expression  must  have  been  woful  indeed.  I  was  not  aware 
that  any  of  those  feelings  or  looks  remained ;  but  it  would 
not  be  strange,  as  I  have  never  been  very  happy.  I  often 
think  that  my  life  has  not  been  as  joyful  as  it  should  have 
been ;  and  it  is  not  now, —  there  is  something  lacking. 
When  you  first  knew  me,  I  felt,  even  then,  that  I  deserved 
a  better  fate.  I  doubt  not  your  impressions  in  relation  to 
me  are  all  fresh  in  your  memory,  but  I  question  if  they 
are  so  indelibly  fixed  as  mine  are  of  you.  Most  fearfully 
had  I  lost  faith  in  humanity.  The  first  glance  which  I  had 
of  you,  Jeannie,  seemed  to  shiver  to  atoms  the  dark  mass  of 
hatred  and  bitterness  which  I  had  built  up  between  myself 
and  the  '  sweet  heavens.'  I  read  in  your  face  what  I  had 
never  read  in  any  other ;  and  how  those  words  thrilled  to  my 
soul  which  you  then  spoke  to  me  ! 

"You  recollect  the  day  you  desired  me  to  tarry  after 
school  ?  You  did  not  command,  but,  in  a  gentle  manner, 
requested  it.  I  was  so  accustomed  to  chastisement,  that  I 
expected  it,  Jeannie,  even  from  you :  and  yet  I  could  not 
bear  the  thought  that  you  should  strike  me. 

"  When  you  put  out  your  hand  to  take  mine,  I  instinct- 


QLENWOOD.  403 

ively  drew  it  back ;  but  the  moment  it  was  a  prisoner,  it  was 
a  willing  one, —  there  was  no  wish  to  escape.  When  I  tell 
you  what  my  feelings  and  thoughts  were  then,  the  one 
great  passion  which  took  possession  of  my  soul,  you  will 
have  a  key  which  will  unlock  subsequent  mysteries.  I  shall 
speak  freely,  for  I  trust  you.  I  was  then  a  mere  boy, —  a 
poor,  degraded,  forsaken,  wretched  one !  You  were  some 
three  years  older, —  a  young  woman,  and  far,  far  above  me  ! 
0 !  how  intensely  I  felt  it,  none  but  God  and  my  own 
heart  can  ever  know  !  And  yet,  from  that  moment,  I  —  I 
have  loved  you  !  " 

"  Why,  Willie  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lund,  the  tears  stream- 
ing down  her  face. 

"  I  knew  that  you  did  not  realize  it;  —  who  could  have 
realized  what  seemed  so  ridiculous?  Yes,  from  that  mo- 
ment I  loved,  and  I  have  loved  every  moment  since.  When 
you  were  married,  I  tried  to  conquer  my  passion,  but  could 
not ;  there  it  was  in  my  heart,  and  nothing  could  tear  it  out. 
The  night  before  your  wedding-day  I  fled.  I  could  not  bear 
to  see  you  given  to  another ;  and,  in  what  seemed  a  very  un- 
grateful, unjustifiable  manner,  I  left  the  dearest  home  I  had 
ever  known.  I  went  forth  alone,  feeling  perfectly  desolate 
and  heart-broken.  I  was  welcomed  at  Mr.  Penly's,  where 
I  became,  in  a  measure,  content.  You  remember  how  and 
when  we  met  again.  I  still  loved  you,  and  living  with  you 
has  only  increased  its  power  and  intensity.  You  now  know 
all.  I  am  not  happy,  and  never  can  be  unless  you  give  me 
your  heart  and  hand." 

"  Willie,  my  friend,  your  story  has  surprised  me,  and  yet 
I  had  surmised  it  in  part.  Such  long,  such  whole-souled 
affection  is  worthy  of  a  return.  And,  0 !  let  it  not  make 


404  OLENWOOD. 

you  sad,  if  I  cannot  give  you  the  affection  you  desire.  It 
was  but  a  year  ago  that  my  husband  died ;  and  my  oldest 
child  followed  soon  after,  leaving  me  desolate  indeed.  When 
you  came,  my  hope  and  strength  revived ;  but,  though  I  so 
much  wanted  you  near  me,  yet  I  thought  not  of  marriage." 

"  I  feared  as  much,  Jeannie,  and  it  has  made  me  very 
unhappy.  However,  I  cannot  blame  you ;  but  I  would  it 
were  otherwise." 

' '  I  doubt  not,  Willie,  that  you  love  me  most  dearly,  and 
that  you  are  worthy  of  the  purest,  most  devoted  affection, 
love  purer  and  fresher  than  mine  can  ever  be  again.  I  know 
you  would  not  accept  my  hand  unless  I  first  gave  you  my 
heart,  my  whole  heart !  " 

"  No,  Jeannie ;  but  may  I  not  hope  to  win  your  heart?  " 

"What  shall  I  say?  I  want  you  to  be  happy, —  very 
happy ;  and  yet  I  would  not  hold  out  false  hopes.  Can  you 
not  find  some  one  in  the  world  besides  me  whom  you  can 
love?" 

"  No,  Jeannie.  I  have  tried  that  for  years, —  years  when 
I  had  no  hope  ;  although  this  thought  has  ever  been  with 
me,  and  my  faith  does  not  waver,  even  now,  that  we  were 
made  for  each  other." 

"  It  may  be  so.  I  am  never  so  happy  as  when  I  am  with 
you ;  and,  though  I  do  not  give  you  the  assurance  which 
you  require,  yet  I  would  not  have  you  leave  me.  You  may 
think  it  strange,  but  it  is  true,  nevertheless,  that  I  should 
be  very  miserable  without  you." 

"I  am  happy  to  hear  you  say  that  much." 

"I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  it.  But  I  have  thought 
of  you  heretofore  rather  as  a  brother  than  a  husband.  I  have 
been  very  selfish,  I  fear ;  for  I  have  wished,  since  the  first 


0  L  E  N  W  0  0  D  .  405 

day  you  came  here,  that  you  might  remain  unmarried. 
My  last  year's  experience  was  bitter,  indeed,  and  my  spirit 
is  very  sad  now,  for  shadows  come  even  while  the  sun 
shines,  and  they  fill  my  soul  with  dread ;  and,  0 !  if  they 
must  gather  around  me  in  all  their  blackness  and  terror,  I 
would  have  you  here  to  strengthen  me." 

"  I  will  not  fail  you,  my  friend,  for  I  too  share  in  your 
fears." 

"I  have  have  had  so  much  anxiety  of  late,  that  my 
health  is  failing  again.  There  are  afflictions,  Willie,  which 
almost  crush  the  life  out  of  the  heart !  " 

"  I  would  willingly  share  your  griefs,  Jeannie  ;  and  in 
your  darkest  hours  come  to  me,  and  I  will  try  to  comfort 
you." 

"  And  will  you  never  grow  weary  ?  " 

"Never!" 

"  I  believe  you ;  and  as  long  as  you  are  near  me,  I  will 
not  be  entirely  desolate." 

"  We  should  never  wholly  despair,  for  in  all  life's  changes 
there  is  still  hope  for  us.  Our  dear  ones  change  worlds, 
but  they  are  not  lost  —  they  are  ours  still.  The  clouds 
gather  above  us,  but  the  sun  still  shines  ;  night  comes  with 
darkness,  but  how  beautiful  are  the  golden  stars!  Even 
the  sun  has  its  dark  spots,  but  they  do  not  destroy  its  glory 
or  power.  Not  wholly  clear  is  our  way,  but  we  should 
never  despair." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

ILLNESS   OF   WALDO. "  WE   ARE   BUT    TWO,    MAMMA i  " 

A  FEW  days  after  the  conversation  related  in  the  last 
chapter,  Waldo  went  to  walk  with  Willie  Cunard.  He  was 
very  cheerful,  and  talked  much  of  the  beautiful  things  of 
earth,  and  of  the  more  beautiful  ones  in  heaven.  But  his 
strength  was  soon  exhausted,  and  Willie  took  him  in  his 
arms  and  carried  him  home.  Mrs.  Lund  met  them  at  the 
door,  and  received  the  dear  child  to  her  bosom.  Tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes  when  she  saw  how  weary  and  pale  he 
was.  She  sat  down  and  soothed  him  to  sleep.  Long  did 
she  gaze  upon  that  pale  face,  and  over  and  over  again  im- 
printed kisses  upon  his'lips  and  high  white  brow. 

Willie  remained  near,  gazing  upon  mother  and  child  with 
a  world  of  love  and  sympathy  in  his  heart. 

When  Miss  Whiting  came  in,  she  placed  a  pillow  upon 
the  sofa,  and  took  Waldo  and  laid  him  upon  it. 

"Is  he  more  unwell  than  usual,  to-day?  "  she  inquired. 

"I  fear  that  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Lund.  "I  would  not  be 
over- anxious,  neither  would  I  cherish  false  hopes.  Waldo's 
head  has  always  been  too  large  for  his  body,  his  brain  very 
active,  and  I  fear  prematurely  developed.  I  know  that 
mothers  are  partial,  but  I  am  very  certain  that  I  have  never 
seen  a  child  like  him  of  his  age.  He  began  to  talk  before 


GLBNWOOD.  407 

he  was  a  year  old ;  and  he  spoke  nearly  every  word  cor- 
rectly. He  early  startled  me  with  his  remarks  on  various 
subjects,  and  his  memory,  until  within  a  few  weeks,  has  re- 
tained everything." 

"I  thought  him  a  very  precocious  child,  the  first  time  I 
ever  saw  him,"  said  Miss  Whiting.  "Do  you  think  hia 
symptoms  are  really  alarming?" 

"I  do.  When  he  is  in  bed  he  almost  invariably  lies 
upon  his  back,  and  every  few  minutes  he  rubs  the  back  part 
of  his  head  upon  the  pillow.  Look  !  he  has  so  worn  off  the 
hair  that  he  is  almost  bald.  The  physician  gave  me  very 
little  encouragement,  and  I  don't  think  he  knows  what  ails 
him.  The  dear,  dear  one, —  how  can  I  give  him  up  !  He 
was  less  strong  than  usual  to-day?" — interrogatively  to 
Willie. 

"I  never  saw  him  more  pleased  with  the  proposition  to 
walk,"  said  Willie ;  "  and  he  was  full  of  life  and  animation 
when  we  started ;  but  he  soon  became  weary.  Ere  long,  I 
saw  that  he  was  too  weak  to  walk  further,  and  I  took  him 
into  my  arms  and  brought  him  home." 

"  He  is  a  dear  child,"  said  Miss  Whiting,  "  and  I  hope 
that  he  will  soon  be  well  and  strong  again." 

"  God  grant  that  he  may  !  "  replied  Mrs.  Lund,  "  for  he  is 
all  the  world  to  me." 

"  And  while  we  so  earnestly  desire  his  restoration  to 
health,"  said  Willie,  "may  we  be  blest  with  childlike  trust 
and  reconciliation." 

Miss  Whiting  and  Willie  Cunard  now  went  out,  and  the 
mother  was  left  alone  with  her  child.  She  sat  near  him 
and  watched  him  while  he  slept.  He  seemed  very  restless, 
and  often  moved  his  head  from  one  side  to  the  other,  rubbing 
it  hard,  as  though  there  were  much  pain  and  irritation.  By 


408  GLENWOOD. 

and  by  he  awoke  with  a  wild,  bright  look,  his  eyes  gazing 
upward  with  an  expression  of  rapture. 

"  Waldo  !  "  said  his  mother. 

"Is  it  you,  mamma?  Why  !  here  I  am  on  the  sofa  in 
our  own  room  '  I  thought  I  was  in  the  green  fields  with 
papa  and  Carra.  Not  the  green  fields  here,  but  the  green 
fields  there  !  "  pointing  upwards. 

"You  have  been  dreaming,  dearest." 

"  Have  I  ?  It  did  not  seem  like  a  dream.  Hand  in  hand 
I  walked  with  those  beautiful  beings  —  they  were  all  beauti- 
ful. I  did  not  see  you  nor  dear  Willie  there ;  but  they  said 
that  you  would  come  !  " 

"  Do  you  feel  any  better,  Waldo  ?  " 

"  0,  I  don't  know  !  I  have  grown  weary  here.  It  was 
so  beautiful,  and  I  was  so  well  and  happy,  that  I  did  not 
want  to  come  back  again.  Why  should  I  have  come  back, 
mother  ?  " 

"You  are  thinking  of  your  dream."  She  now  took  him 
into  her  arms. 

"I  am  tired,  mother,"  he  said,  as  he  nestled  down  upon 
her  bosom, — "very  tired.  I  like  to  walk  with  dear  Willie, 
and  with  you,  mamma ;  but  I  fear  I  never  shall  any  more, 
here.  I  shall  walk'  in  the  fields  of  heaven  with  you  both  ; 
but  never  here  again." 

"  0  !  I  hope  you  will,  Waldo,  many,  many  times.  You 
are  not  very  sick,  and  you  may  be  better  soon." 

"You  don't  want  your  little  boy  to  die,  do  you, 
mamma?" 

"  No,  no,  dear  child  !  " 

"  Will  you  be  lonesome  when  I  am  gone? " 

"  I  should  be  very  lonely,  very  sad,  if  you  should  die ! " 


GLBNWOOD.  409 

"  I  will  come,  if  God  will  let  me,  and  make  you  happy. 
Mamma,  I  shall  die  —  I  shall  never  be  well  again  !  Don't 
weep,  dear  mamma  !  I  can't  help  it ;  God  wants  me  in  hia 
house,  and  I  must  go.  I  never  shall  be  weary  there !  " 

"  Waldo,  I  must  weep;  but,  dear  one,  I  will  try  to  be 
reconciled  to  the  will  of  Heaven.  I  wish  you  would  not 
think  so  much  about  dying ;  you  are  so  young,  and  'so  dear 
to  this  desolate  heart !  We  are  but  two,  Wallie !  " 

"  Where  is  my  Willie  ?" 

"  He  is  at  work  in  the  field,  hoeing  corn." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  he  went  to  a  walk  with  me? " 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember?  It  was  only  this  morning, 
some  two  hours  since." 

"I  thought  it  was  longer.  I  must  see  him; — won't  you 
call  him  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  If  you  will  lie  upon  the  sofa  again,  I  will 
send  for  him." 

When  Willie  came,  he  knelt  by  his  side,  and  Waldo  put 
his  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

"Dear  Willie,"  he  said,  "did  you  know  that  I  was 
going?" 

"Going!— where?" 

"Up  where  papa  and  Carra  live.  I  don't  want  to  leave 
you,  Willie,  but  mamma  can't  spare  us  both.  I  want  to  sit 
in  your  lap ;  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  get  into  it  now ;  I 
never  shall  be  again.  You  are  crying.  You  will  hold  me, 
won't  you,  Willie?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling  !     There,  does  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"0,  it  is  so  nice !  and  now  I  can  lay  and  look  right  into 
your  face.     You  are  my   own  Willie;   and   you,'    to  his 
mother,  "are  my  own  mamma." 
35 


410  GLEN  WOOD. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  replied. 

"  Come  here,  mamma,"  he  said. 

She  came  and  kne.lt  down,  leaning  upon  Willie  for  sup- 
port. He  was  glad  to  have  her  there ;  and  he  prayed  in  hia 
heart  that  she  might,  in  all  her  days  of  weakness,  feel  to  lean 
upon  him;  for  he  would  so  rejoice  to  be  her  stay  and 
comfort. 

"My  own  mamma,"  said  Waldo;  "my  own  Willie,"  and 
he  placed  her  hand  in  his.  "  I  am  so  happy,  for  Willie  will 
always  love  you,  mamma  !  " 

Mrs.  Lund  was  weeping  now  very  bitterly,  for  her  heart 
felt  that  it  would  break ;  and  the  manly  tears  fell  fast  from 
Willie's  eyes.  His  right  arm  stole  lovingly  around  her,  as 
though  it -would  say,  "  I  will  be  your  protector."  •  , 

"  How  can  I  give  you  up? "  she  exclaimed,  passionately. 
"  You  are  my  all !  0,  my  Father  !  let  him  yet  be  spared 
to  me !  " 

"  Do  not  feel  so  badly,  mother ;  — Willie  is  here.  I  do  love 
you  both ;  I  don't  know  which  I  love  best.  You  are  so 
good  that  I  want  to  stay  with  you  always.  But  I  must  not. 
Willie  will  stay,  mamma." 

He  now  seemed  drowsy,  and  Mrs.  Lund  went  away  by 
herself,  and  prayed  for  faith  and  resignation.  When  she 
came  back  Waldo  had  fallen  asleep  in  Willie's  arms.  When 
he  awoke,  he  wished  to  be  laid  in  his  own  bed.  He  was 
soon  after  delirious ;  but  there  were  frequent  intervals  when 
reason  returned,  and  then  he  would  talk  as  beautifully  as 
ever.  The  physician  came  often,  and  left  his  prescriptions, 
but  spoke  no  word  of  hope.  Day  after  day,  and  night  after 
night,  did  faithful,  loving  ones  watch  by  the  pillow  of  the 
sick  child ;  but  love  and  care  could  not  save  him.  It  was  on 


GLENWOOD.  411 

the  afternoon  of  the  tenth  day  of  his  sickness,  when  a  long 
delirium  passed  away,  and,  though  he  was  very  weak,  his 
mind  was  clear. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now? "  asked  his  mother. 

"  I  am  better,  dear  mamma !  I  am  glad  that  I  see  you 
once  more.  Dear,  dear  mother,  I  have  been  so  sick,  so 
weary !  but  I  shall  not  be  sick  there,  nor  tired  any  more, 
shall  I?" 

"No,  my  dear." 

"Where  is  my  Willie?" 

"Here  he  is,  and  he  has  scarcely  left  you  since  you  were 
taken  sick." 

"0,  he  is  so  good !  I  love  Willie,  don't  you  ?  Dear 
Willie,  I  must  go ;  but  you  will  love  mamma,  'cause  she  will 
be  so  lonely  when  I  am  gone." 

Miss  Whiting  now  came  in  and  spoke  to  him ;  he  kissed 
her,  his  mother,  and  Willie.  After  this  he  was  so  exhausted 
that  he  closed  his  eyes  and  slept.  He  soon  awoke,  exclaim- 
ing: "I  see  them!  There!  there!  They  are  beautiful! 
I  knew — you — would  come !  dear  papa! "  His  eyes  closed 
again,  but  in  a  moment  opened  with  a  look  of  love  upon  his 
mother  and  Willie.  They  took  his  hands  in  theirs,  when  he 
said,  "  We  are  but  two,  mamma !  "  and  the  sweet  child  was 
at  rest.  The  waiting  angels  bore  his  spirit  to  the  better 
land,  where  the  dear  lost  ones  of  earth  welcomed  him  with 
gladness  and  holy  joy. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THE  BEREAVED  MOTHER. TRUE-HEARTED  DEVOTION. THE  REWARD  OI 

FAITHFUL   LOVE. 

MRS.  LUND  held  out  bravely  until  her  darling  boy  was 
dead ;  but  she  could  bear  up  no  longer  against  this  terrible 
flood  of  grief,  and  so  the  cold  waves  swept  over  her,  and 
would  have  borne  her  far  from  the  shore,  and  hid  her  for- 
ever in  their  dark  bosom,  if  a  loving  hand  had  not  held  her 
back. 

She  had  never  entirely  recovered  from  the  shock  of  her 
husband  and  Carra's  death ;  this  last  blow  seemed  heavier 
than  the  others,  and  she  bent  to  the  dust  beneath  it.  The 
excitement  kept  her  upon  her  feet  until  after  the  funeral ; 
but  as  soon  as  the  house  was  quiet  again,  she  laid  her  weary 
head  upon  her  pillow,  not  to  raise  it  again  for  many  weeks. 
When  the  physician  came,  he  said  that  medicine  would  do 
but  little  good;  for,  though  nature  was  exhausted  with 
watching,  the  disease  was  more  of  the  mind  than  the  body. 
Her  case  was  somewhat  doubtful,  and  only  the  greatest  care 
could  save  her.  A  domestic  was  now  procured,  that  Misa 
Whiting  might  devote  herself  to  the  sick  one,  and  she  proved 
very  faithful  to  her  stricken  friend  ;  but  Willie  Cunard  was, 
if  possible,  more  faithful  still.  He  scarcely  left  the  bedside 
of  the  sufferer.  Night  and  day  found  him  near  her  pillow. 


OLENWOOD.  413 

Miss  Whiting  became  really  alarmed,  lest  he,  too,  should  be 
sick.  He  was  deaf,  however,  to  all  remonstrances,  and 
seemed  to  feel  that  the  life  of  his  friend  was  held  by  a  single 
thread,  and  he  alone  could  keep  it  from  breaking.  When 
her  father  and  mother  came,  he  still  kept  his  place,  leaving 
it  only  for  refreshment  and  a  few  minutes'  repose.  He 
doubted  not  that  Mrs.  Lund  wanted  him  ever  near  her ;  for 
if  she  awoke  and  found  him  absent,  she  was  extremely  rest- 
less until  he  returned.  Much  of  the  time  he  held  her  hand, 
chafed  her  fair  white  brow,  and  soothed  her  to  rest. 

What  a  burthen  was  removed  when  the  crisis  was  past, 
and  there  was  reason  for  hope  !  In  the  silence  of  his  own 
chamber  he  wept  for  very  joy,  and  poured  out  his  soul  in 
thanks  to  God.  He  did  not  abate  his  vigilance  in  the  least, 
now  that  she  was  considered  out  of  immediate  danger ;  his 
was  a  work  of  love,  and  to  give  his  whole  soul  to  it  would 
alone  satisfy  him.  He  knew  how  frail  she  was,  and  feared  a 
relapse,  in  which  case  all  hope  would  be  gone.  He  felt  that 
he  could  die  for  her,  but,  if  she  should  die,  life  indeed  were 
worthless. 

This  continued  watching,  with  but  little  rest,  was  not 
without  its  effect.  Willie's  appetite,  not  good  since  Mrs. 
Lund  was  token  sick,  now  almost  entirely  left  him.  His 
cheeks  became  pale  and  sunken,  and  his  eyes  were  either 
very  heavy  or  unnaturally  clear  and  bright. 

One  day,  when  Mrs.  Lund  awoke  from  a  refreshing  sleep, 
the  first  glance  that  she  met,  as  usual,  was  Willie  Cunard'a. 

"  You  are  always  here,  dear  Willie  !  "  she  said. 

"  And  I  love  to  be  here  better  than  anywhere  else,"  he 
replied.     "My  place  is  near  you,  as  long  as  my  presence 
can  give  you  the  least  comfort." 
35* 


414  GLENWOOD. 

She  smiled  sweetly  upon  him,  and  said,  "  You  are  very 
faithful,  Willie.  What  should  I  have  done  without  you? 
But  I  fear  you  will  forget  yourself.  I  don't  know  how  it 
is,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  scarcely  left  me  at  all. 
Don't  forget  that  your  health  is  as  precious  as  mine.  I  am 
much  better  now,  and  you  must  take  more  rest." 

"  Yes,  dear,  since  you  wish  it.  I  am  so  rejoiced  to  wit- 
/  ess  such  a  marked  improvement !  You  look  more  cheerful, 
more  resigned,  and  now  I  shall  feel  to  rest." 

"  The  dark  sea  of  grief  would  have  overwhelmed  me,  if 
your  love  had  not  come  to  the  rescue ;  and  I  shall  never 
forget  it." 

"  Bless  you,  for  such  words  give  me  life !  But  you 
must  not  talk  more  now ;  you  are  already  exhausted  by  the 
effort  you  have  made." 

"I  will  obey  you,  but  the  day  will  come,  Willie  !  " 

"Yes,  dear  heart !  " 

Some  days  after  this,  Mrs.  Lund  fell  asleep  while  Willie 
held  her  hand,  a  pleasure  which  he  never  seemed  to  weary 
of.  When  she  awoke,  she  saw  that  he  was  fast  asleep  in  his 
chair.  Miss  Whiting  came  in,  and,  without  disturbing  him, 
placed  an  additional  pillow  under  her  head.  She  lay  so  that 
she  could  look  directly  into  his  face,  and  she  noticed  for  the 
first  time  how  pale  and  poor  he  was.  Arid  then  she  thought 
how  great  had  been  his  devotion  to  her  during  her  sickness, 
and  how  many  years  he  had  loved  her  with  no  return  of 
affection  —  nothing  for  hope  to  feed  upon.  She  thought  of 
his  kindness  to  her  dear,  lost  Waldo,  and  how  ardently  the 
child  loved  him ;  and  now  the  tears  came  welling  up,  and 
coursed  rapidly  down  her  cheeks.  She  was  weak  and  child- 
ish,—  at  least,  the  reader  may  think  that  the  latter  was  no 


QLBNWOOD.  415 

less  true  than  the  former, —  and  so  she  could  not  control  her 
emotions,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

This  awoke  Willie  from  a  pleasant  dream,  and  very  much 
surprised  was  he  to  find  Mrs.  Lund  in  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  he  said,  quickly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said;  "for,  while  you  slept,  my  thoughts 
have  been  busy.  Do  you  know  that  I  think  you  ought  not 
to  have  so  neglected  yourself?  Here  you  have  been  sitting 
over  me,  day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  until  you 
look,  I  fancy,  as  sick  as  I  do.  Dear  Willie,  I  thank  you, 
from  my  heart,  for  such  disinterested  devotion ;  but  I  shall 
insist  that,  hereafter,  you  take  the  rest  and  recreation  which 
you  require.  I  love  to  have  you  near  me  ;  but  it  pains  me 
to  see  you  looking  so  ill,  and  all  for  me." 

"I  fear  you  give  me  more  credit  than  I  rightly  deserve. 
But  I  am  not  strong  or  well  now,  and  I  am  no  longer  afraid 
to  trust  you  with  others.  I  shall  take  more  rest  hereafter, 
and  during  the  day  ride  and  see  to  the  business  on  the  farm. 
I  have  sadly  neglected  things  of  late." 

"  No  matter  if  you  have,  for  a  holier  work  has  been  yours. 
You  are  my  only  stay  and  comfort  now ;  so  get  well  and  be 
happy." 

"  I  shall  improve  rapidly,  I  doubt  not.  It  is  worth  trying 
for,  since  you  wish  it." 

"  And  it  would  be,  Willie,  if  I  did  not.  See,  how  pleasant 
it  looks  !  You  must  take  a  horseback  ride,  this  afternoon, 
for  it  will  do  you  a  great  deal  of  good." 

From  this  time  Willie  began  to  amend  rapidly;  ere  many 
days  he  was  well  again.  Mrs.  Lund  was  soon  able  to  walk 
across  the  floor,  leaning  upon  Willie's  arm ;  then  he  carried 
her  short  distances  in  the  chaise,  increasing  the  length  of  the 


416  GLENWOOD. 

rides  as  her  strength  would  permit.  In  due  time  she 
•walked  with  him  in  the  fields,  and  finally  they  visited 
her  father's  —  the  dear  old  cottage  in  Yarnford. 

Mrs.  Lund  unreservedly  resigned  herself  to  Willie's  care 
and  protection.  A  few  months  before  she  did  not  know  that 
she  loved  him,  but  she  knew  it  now.  When  Waldo  died, 
she  had  nothing  to  live  for,  she  thought ;  now  she  would  live 
for  Willie  alone.  He  was  not  slow  to  read  her  heart,  and  it 
brought  the  long-desired  peace  to  his  own.  He  waited  until 
her  health  and  strength  were  restored,  and  then  again  prof- 
fered his  love. 

"  I  am  yours,"  she  said,  "  and  I  now  freely  give  you  my 
whole  heart.  Take  it,  dearest,  and  may  God  grant  that  its 
possession  may  bring  you  that  happiness  which  you  so  richly 
deserve ! " 

"  My  own  dear  Jeannie,"  he  replied,  "  long  have  I  waited 
for  this  blissful  moment !  It  has  come,  at  last,  bringing  with 
it  a  world  of  joy." 

"  And  I,  too,  notwithstanding  my  deep  sorrow,  am  very 
happy ;  for  I  shall  find  rest  in  your  faithful  love." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  dear  one  !  "  —  drawing  her  to  his  heart, 
and  now  the  embrace — the  emotions  which  arise  from  mutual 
love. —  Reader,  the  scene  was  sacred  to  them ;  so  let  the  veil 
of  silence,  shut  it  from  the  gaze  of  profane  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE   CROWNING    EVENT. SALE   OF    THE   FARM    IN    STETSON. PVRCHA8I 

OF    THE     GREGG    FARM. AT    THEIR    NEW    HOME. MR.    BUGBEK     IN    A 

PASSION    EXPRESSES    HIS    OPINION. MARRIAGE   OF    MISS    WHITING. 

MOTHER   AND     CHILD    MEET     AGAIN. CAPTAIN     CLINTON     REMOVES    TO 

GLENWOOD.  —  HOME   AND   HAPPINESS 

WILLIE  CUNARD  and  Mrs.  Lund  were  married  on  Thanks- 
giving day.  A  few  friends  were  witnesses  of  the  happy 
event.  Under  other  circumstances,  a  greater  number  would 
have  been  invited ;  but  Jeannie,  so  recently  bereaved,  felt 
that  in  a  large  company  there  would  be  more  levity  than  she 
would  care  to  witness.  Her  parents,  brothers,  and  sisters, 
the  Penlys,  Miss  Whiting,  and  a  few  others,  composed  the 
company.  Everything  passed  off  as  she  desired.  All  looked 
interested  and  happy,  and,  though  there  was  less  merry- 
making than  might  otherwise  have  been,  yet  there  was  a 
subdued  joy  in  every  heart. 

Soon  after  this  joyful  day,  Jeannie  expressed  a  wish  to 
Willie  that  their  farm  might  be  sold,  and  one  purchased  in 
another  town.  The  reason  she  gave  for  this  was,  because 
she  had  seen  so  much  sickness  and  trouble  in  Stetson,  she 
felt  that  she  could  be  happier  elsewhere. 

"  How  should  you  like  to  live  in  Glenmood?"  inquired 
Willie. 

"  Very  much,"  replied  Mrs.  Cunard. 


418  GLENWOOD. 

"  I  saw  a  notice,  a  few  days  since,  that  the  farm  formerly 
owned  by  Mr.  Gregg  (my  grandfather)  was  to  be  sold  at 
auction,  and  I  should  like  that.  The  location  is  very  pleas- 
ant, the  buildings  are  good,  and  the  land,  originally  of  the 
very  best  quality,  has  never  been  exhausted  by  the  wretched 
course  pursued  by  many  farmers.  Mr.  Gregg,  say  what  we 
will  of  him  in  other  respects,  understood  the  business  of 
agriculture  well;  and,  had  he  devoted  his  energies  to  that 
alone,  he  would  not  have  died  a  poor  man.  He  was  am- 
bitious to  do  too  much  —  to  be  known  as  a  business  man  of- 
rare  tact  and  talent.  Moreover,  his  unattractive  home  drove 
him,  at  last,  into  the  wildest  speculations ;  the  result  was, 
the  complete  wreck  of  his  fortune.  — How  does  the  idea  strike 
you,  Jeannie?" 

"  It  is  the  place  I  should  choose  above  all  others  in  Glen- 
wood.  The  pretty  lake  and  the  high  hill  are  in  near  prox- 
imity, which,  with  all  the  other  attractions,  will  make  it  a 
most  desirable  residence.  I  used  to  enjoy  a  boat-ride  on 
the  lake,  and  I  should  enjoy  it  more  than  ever  now.  How 
delightful  to  have  a  beautiful  boat  of  our  own,  and  sail  in 
the  early  morning,  or  at  the  close  of  day,  just  as  the  sun  is 
setting !  I  like  the  house,  it  is  so  large  and  convenient. 
Is  the  land  easily  cultivated?  " 

"  Very.  There  were  but  few  rocks,  originally ;  and  those 
have  been  almost  entirely  removed.  The  quality  of  the 
soil  is  not  only  good,  but  nearly  the  whole  farm  lies  facing 
the  south,  and  so  the  crops  invariably  escape  an  early  frost. 
The  fields  are  well  fenced,  and  free  from  obnoxious  shrubs 
and  bushes."  _ 

"If  we  can  sell  our  farm,  Willie,  and  our  means  are 
sufficient,  we  will  Durchase  the  Gregg  farm.  I  fancy  that 


GLENWOOD.  419 

we  should  both  be  better  suited  than  we  are  now.  I  am 
proud  to  have  a  farmer  for  a  husband,  but  I  do  not  want 
him  a  slave,  laboring  twelve  or  fifteen  hours  every  day 
for  a  decent  livelihood." 

"  The  unscientific  manner  in  which  much  of  the  agricul- 
tural business  is  done  in  New  England  makes  the  labor  of 
very  many  farmers  altogether  too  hard  for  the  best  good  of 
the  body  and  the  mind.  Those  who  till  the  soil  should  have 
time  for  recreation,  and  for  the  culture  of  the  intellect  and 
heart.  Some  think  that  continued  labor  is  the  surest  way 
to  keep  men  from  evil.  This  is  a  mistake.  We  have  a 
three-fold  nature  —  a  trinity  in  unity  makes  up  the  man. 
The  soul  should  not  be  sacrificed  to  the  body,  nor  the  body 
to  the  soul.  Let  justice  be  done  to  the  whole  man,  and  then 
there  is  continued  growth  and  happiness." 

"  So  I  think.  If  we  are  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  the 
Gregg  farm,  I  shall  expect  to  live  very  happily  there.  Not 
that  our  happiness  depends  on  that  alone,  for,  wherever  our 
lot  may  be  cast,  sweet  peace  shall  be  with  us." 

u  Yes,  Jeannie.  To  be  with  you,  knowing  that  you  love 
me,  is  my  greatest  source  of  happiness." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  one;  and  rest  assured  that  your 
love  is  reciprocated  to  its  fullest  extent.  Our  joy  will 
always  be  complete,  perfectly  harmonious,  for  our  love  is 
mutual." 

"  And  may  it  ever  continue  so,  dearest !  " 

The  farm  in  Stetson  was  soon  disposed  of;  and  when  the 
Gregg  farm  was  sold,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  people  of 
Glenwood,  the  purchaser  was  Willie  Canard.  Another 
thing  was  equally  surprising,  that  Jeannie  Wyman,  the  sue 


420  GLENWOOD. 

cessful  and  beloved  school-teacher,  was  Willie  Cunard'a 
wife. 

Early  the  ensuing  spring,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cunard  moved  to 
their  new  home,  which  they  found  all  they  had  anticipated. 
It  was  pleasant  for  Willie  to  live  there,  for  that  roof  had 
once  sheltered  his  beautiful  mother,  and  all  the  interesting 
places  in  the  vicinity  had  been  pressed  by  her  feet.  In  the 
garden  was  a\  large  bed  of  flowers  which  her  fair  hands  had 
planted.  It  had  of  late  been  much  neglected ;  but  Willie 
and  Jeannie,  in  honor  of  her  memory,  soon  restored  it  to  its 
former  loveliness.  Later,  they  enlarged  it,  and  added  all 
the  beautiful  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  flowers.  It  was  a 
monument  an  angel  might  well  be  proud  of.  Deacon  and  Mrs. 
Glubbings,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goose,  Zebulon  Bugbee  (the  latter 
just  recovering  from  a  long  illness),  and  other  people  in  town, 
called  to  offer  their  congratulations,  and  welcome  them  to 
Glenwood.  Soon  after,  Margaret  Bumford  heard  of  Willie's 
good  fortune,  and  she  came  to  see  him,  accompanied  by  Hec- 
tor Stifels.  Margaret  and  Hector  were  feasted  on  wedding- 
cake  to  their  entire  satisfaction.  The  quantity  which  they  con- 
sumed utterly  surprised  Mrs.  Cunard.  She  was  not  aware 
before  that  human  beings  could  eat  so  much. 

Those  persons  in  Glenwood  who  had  formerly  abused  Wil- 
lie now  hung  their  heads  when  they  met  him,  and  none 
looked  more  sheepish  than  Elam  Sacket.  Mr.  Cunard  soon 
convinced  him  that  he  bore  no  malice  towards  him,  and  then 
he  regained  his  wonted  confidence.  Willie  did  not  neglect, 
however,  the  opportunity  to  impress  upon  the  mind  of  Sacket 
the  meanness  of  his  conduct.  He  told  him  unreservedly  how 
much  suffering  his  thoughtless  persecution  had  caused  him, 
and  advised  him  to  be  careful  of  the  feelings  of  others,  espe- 


GLENWOOD.  421 

cially  of  the  poor  and  defenceless.  It  was  a  lesson  which 
Sacket  needed,  and  he  never  forgot  it.  He  did  not,  it  is 
true,  entirely  reform  his  conduct  in  this  respect,  but  the 
change  was  very  desirable.  Not  unfrequently  would  he 
aim  his  arrows  at  the  weak ;  but,  when  he  saw  that  only 
suffering  was  the  result,  he  would  think  of  Willie  Cunard, 
and  stop  at  once.  And,  if  his  thoughtless  course  encour- 
aged others  to  make  the  victim  a  butt  for  ridicule,  he 
bravely  took  his  part,  and  warded  off  the  shafts  which  would 
not  have  been  sent  but  for  him. 

As  Mrs.  Cunard  was  now  quite  cheerful,  reposing  so  con- 
fidingly in  the  affection  of  her  husband,  happiness  came  to 
her  heart  again,  and  with  it  health  and  her  wonted  vigor. 
She  had  always  had  a  desire  to  be  of  some  service  to  the  suf- 
fering, and  now  she  improved  every  opportunity,  and  many 
a  heavy  heart  was  made  light  thereby.  To  the  poor  of  Glen- 
wood  our  hero  and  heroine  were  truly  benefactors.  They 
visited  the  alms-house  frequently,  and  through  their  instru- 
mentality many  additional  comforts  were  provided.  Since 
then  the  aged  paupers  have  been  furnished  with  coffee  and 
tea,  not  by  individuals  of  large  hearts,  like  Zebulon  Bugbee, 
but  by  the  town.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cunard  have  succeeded  in 
impressing  upon  the  minds  of  the  people  that  the  poor  are 
really  human  beings,  and  should  be  cared  for  with  true  Chris- 
tian kindness ;  instead  of  being  treated  as  outcasts,  their 
wants  should  be  abundantly  supplied,  looking  more  to  comfort 
than  to  expense. 

As  Mr.  Zebulon  Bugbee  was  slowly  regaining  his  health, 
he  often  visited  the  "  old  new  comers,"  as  he  facetiously 
called  them.  As  he  was  so  good  at  heart,  so  jovial  and  comi- 
cal, he  was  always  welcomed.  There  were  times  when  he 
36 


422  GLENWOOD. 

talked  quite  seriously ;  but  he  made  such  ludicrous  mistakes, 
that  Jeannie  would  laugh  until  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes 
This  did  not  disconcert  him  in  the  least ;  for  he  said  that  her 
laugh  had  such  a  clear,  musical  ring  to  it,  that  he  "  could  n't 
help  smiling;"  and  smile  he  did,  though  not  quite  so  hard  as 
when  in  better  health. 

"  I  declare,"  he  remarked,  on  one  occasion,  "  it  is  all  iron- 
ical synonymous,  but  who  'd  a  thought  this  ere  would  ever 
have  been  ?  Lord !  if  anybody  had  told  me  that  that  are 
ragged  poor-house  boy  would  ever  have  owned  Mr.  Gregg's 
farm,  I  should  e'enamost  died  a  laughing  !  Why,  what  an 
insignificant  creetur  you  was  !  You  ha^  a  little,  dirty, 
picked  face  as  ever  I  see.  How  you  kept  them  rags  a 
hanging  on  to  ye  I  can't  imagine.  You  was  a  comical 
figure,  sure  enough.  Your  toes  peeped  out  of  your  old 
shoes,  to  see  what  was  going  on,  I  suppose.  Your  legs  looked 
out  of  the  knees  of  your  troupers,  and  your  arms  at  your 
elbows  ;  while  your  scraggly  locks  lifted  up  your  hat-crown, 
and  kept  it  on  the  flap.  It  makes  no  pacific  odds,  but  I 
can't  help  smiling.  Wai,  wal,  it's  a  strange  world  !  We 
are  horned  and  marry,  sicken  and  die.  Whether  our  naturs 
are  as  bad  as  Mr.  Shackles  says,  until  we  are  born  the 
second  time,  I  can't  tell ;  but  some  things  come  out  as 
rough  as  some  of  my  mop-handles  and  wash-boards." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think,"  said  Willie,  "that  you  have 
drawn  me  in  rather  strong  colors ;  however,  I  will  not 
quarrel  with  you,  as  you  seem  to  enjoy  it  so  well.  When 
I  call  to  remembrance  what  I  was  then,  and  realize  what  I 
am  now,  it  seems  almost  like  a  dream.  There  are  very  few 
whose  lot  was  more  deplorable  ;  and  yet  here  I  am,  in  the 
same  town,  most  richly  blessed  !  What  more  can  I  desire  ':' 


OLENWOOD.  428 

As  to  the  nature  that  God  has  given  us,  it  is  well  enough, 
if  we  act  according  to  the  light  we  have,  and  it  is  weli 
adapted  to  the  circumstances  with  which  we  are  surrounded." 

"  And  shows  the  benevolence  of  the  Deity,"  said  Jeannie. 

"  But  the  thing  on  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Bugbee,  "  we  don't 
rightly  govern  our  naturs,  and  so  our  wegetable  appetites 
and  passions  get  the  better  on  us." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cunard  and  Miss  Whiting  happened  just 
then  to  be  in  a  laughing  mood,  and  Mr.  Bugbee's  mistake 
furnished  the  requisite  food  for  merriment. 

"  What  are  ye  all  laughing  at?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  had  always  supposed,"  said  Miss  Whiting,  "  that  we 
had  animal  natures,  but  you  have  made  us  into  a  lot  of 
'  wege tables.' ' 

"  Like  the  noses  of  the  seven  abridged  editions  of  Slusher," 
said  Willie. 

"  0  Lord  !  "  said  Mr.  Zebulon  Bugbee,  "  it  is  all  ironi- 
cal synonymous,  but  I  can't  help  smiling." 

Soon  after  this,  Willie  went  into  one  of  the  stores,  on  a 
very  rainy  day,  and  Mr.  Bugbee  was  lying  at  full  length 
upon  an  old  settle,  listening  to  a  discussion  on  Mesmerism 
and  Phrenology,  carried  on  by  a  number  of  the  young  men 
of  the  village,  who  were  at  leisure  because  of  the  rain. 
Suddenly  Zebulon  popped  up  his  head,  seemingly  very  much 
excited. 

"Young  men,"  he  said,  "  where  'd  you  get  your  pho- 
nology ?  When  the  immaculate  Son  of  God  was  upon  earth, 
he  said  these  things  was  hid  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and 
revulged  unto  babes  !  " 

The  laugh  that  followed  this  speech  was  sufficient  to  com- 
pletely break  up  the  discussion.  That  season.  Mr.  Bugbee 


424  GLENWOOD. 

purchased  a  piece  of  meadow-grass,  in  company  with  Mr, 
Blossom.  He  did  not  know  what  a  tricky  partner  he  had, 
and  he  gave  him  permission  to  mow  over  one  half  of  the 
ground,  which  he  requested  he  might  be  allowed  to  do,  as  ho 
had  already  harvested  the  hay  that  grew  upon  his  own  land. 
Mr.  Blossom,  as  Mr.  Bugbee  was  sick,  instead  of  dividing 
the  piece  fairly,  selected  the  part  on  which  grew  the  best  and 
heaviest  grass.  When  the  latter  went  to  see  to  the  harvest- 
ing of  the  remainder,  he  was  surprised  and  indignant. 

"  There  ! "  he  said,  in  a  passion,  pointing  significantly  with 
his  finger.  "  It  is  all  ironical  synonymous,  but  he  has  mown 

down  all  the  glory,  and  left  me  nothing  but  the  d d 

hemisphere !  " 

"It  makes  no  pacific  odds,"  said  Willie  Cunard,  who 
was  in  company  with  Mr.  Bugbee.  The  latter  recognized 
the  phrase  Willie  had  used  as  his  own,  and  he  smiled  so 
heartily  that  he  shook  the  frown  from  his  face  which  had 
gathered  there  when  he  first  saw  the  rascality  which  Mr. 
Blossom  had  practised  upon  him.  It  did  not  return  again. 

"  Mr.  Blossom  has  played  you  a  very  mean  trick,"  said 
Willie;  "but  it  is  better  to  suffer  wrong  than  to  do  wrong." 

' '  Exactly  !  Lord  !  I  shall  have  hay  enough,  never  fear  ! 
But  I  tell  ye  what  'tis,  ye  won't  catch  me  to  trust  a  Blos- 
som again,  nohow !  " 

"  Not  unless  it  is  a  more  generous  one,  I  hope.  By  the 
.way,  the  Blossom  has  taken  the  flower  of  the  field."  A 
very  powerful  smile  followed  this  last  hit. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cunard  visited  quite  often  Jeannie's  old 
boarding-mistress,  and  many  a  hearty  laugh  they  had  in  re- 
lation to  Mrs.  Jones'  former  fears  lest  Jeannie  should  injure 
her  health  by  eating  so  much  at  dinner-time.  She  returned 


GLENWOOD.  425 

their  visits,  and  was  ever  welcome.  As  Mrs.  Jones  was  not 
in  very  good  circumstances,  being  still  obliged  to  keep 
boarders,  Willie  occasionally  sent  her  a  nice  piece  of  veal  or 
beef,  a  chicken  or  a  turkey,  and  in  this  way  amply  repaid 
the  debt  which  he  had  incurred  without  her  knowledge. 

O 

During  the  first  year  of  the  residence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cunard  in  Glenwood,  a  beautiful  spot  was  chosen  for  a  cem- 
etery, and  the  remains  of  Willie's  father  and  mother,  Mr. 
Lund  and  children,  were  removed  there,  and  a  chaste  mon- 
ument erected  to  their  memory. 

Miss  Whiting  came  to  Glenwood  with  Willie  and  Jeannie, 
and  finally  concluded  to  make  it  her  home.  She  taught 
school  one  season,  boarding  with  them ;  but,  becoming 
seriously  entangled  in  the  meshes  of  Cupid,  from  which  thral- 
dom she  could  only  look  for  complete  enfranchisement  by 
marriage,  she  accepted  the  alternative,  and  in  due  time  re- 
moved to  a  happy  home  of  her  own.  She  wrote,  soon  after, 
to  her  mother  that  she  was  now  blessed  with  a  good  husband 
and  a  pleasant  home,  urging  her  and  Captain  Clinton  to 
journey  to  the  east  and  make  them  a  visit.  The  invitation 
was  accepted,  and  in  due  time  Mrs.  Wason,  formerly  Sarah 
Whiting,  greeted  her  mother  at  her  own  home.  The  meet- 
ing between  mother  and  daughter  can  better  be  imagined 
than  described. 

Captain  Clinton  and  his  wife  were  now  quite  aged,  and 
they  seemed  to  think  that  they  could  spend  the  remainder 
of  their  days  more  happily  in  New  England  than  at  the  West. 
"  We  were  born  and  educated  here,"  they  said,  "and  it 
seems  more  like  home." 

Captain  Clinton  returned  to  Wisconsin ;  and,  having  a 
favorable  opportunity  to  dispose  of  his  property,  he  improved 
36* 


426  GLENWOOD. 

it,  and  came  back,  bringing  his  children  with  him.  After 
looking  about  for  a  time,  he  concluded  to  settle  down  in 
Glenwood. 

The  lake  near  the  mountain  is  as  beautiful  as  of  yore. 
Willie  has  procured  a  new  and  splendid  boat,  and  in  it  he 
and  his  beloved  companion  take  many  a  pleasant  sail.  Now 
and  then  they  spend  an  hour  or  two  in  angling,  or  they 
gather  the  snow-white  lilies.  To  the  green  slope  where 
Willie's  father  and  mother  first  met  they  frequently  repair, 
and  there,  reposing  in  the  shade  of  the  mountain  trees,  the 
time  passes  happily  away. 

To  agriculture  Mr.  Cunard  is  warmly  devoted  ;  and  he  has 
wisely  summoned  all  the  modern  improvements  in  farming 
to  his  aid,  and  has  thus  made  his  farm  a  model.  He  has  not 
stinted  the  soil,  and  it  has  given  him  a  generous  return, 
so  wealth  is  fast  flowing  in  upon  those  who  know  how  to  use 
it  well.  Reader,  you  will  rejoice  that  such  is  his  fortune 
after  so  many  trials ;  and  you  will  not  regret,  as  the  hearts 
which  were  made  for  each  other  are  now  united,  that  Jeannie 
is  also  happy  —  happier  than  she  ever  was  before.  Should 
you  ever  visit  their  home  in  Glenwood,  you  will  find  all  that 
I  have  told  you  strictly  true  ;  and  more  than  that,  for  new 
emotions  stir  Willie's  soul  while  he  gazes  upon  a  fond 
mother  as  she  presses  her  cherub  babe  to  her  heart. 


SUPPLEMENTAL. 

IT  is  very  possible,  and  by  no  means  improbable,  that 
many  persons  who  read  this  book  will  be  disposed  to  doubt 
whether  a  parish-boy,  in  New  England,  is  ever  wronged  as 
the  author  has  represented  Willie  Cunard.  In  order  to 
silence  such  doubts,  the  liberty  is  here  taken  to  quote  from 
a  letter  received  from  an  excellent  young  lady,  a  school- 
teacher, not  a  thousand  miles  from  Boston.  By  perusing 
these  extracts,  it  will  be  seen  that  her  experience  was  almost 
identical  with  that  of  Jcannie  Wyman  with  Willie  Cunard. 

"The  poor-master  is  one  of  the  school  committee,  and, 
before  I  commenced  with  the  school,  told  me  that  I  should 
undoubtedly  experience  some  difficulty  in  managing  a  cer- 
tain   ,  an  inmate  of  the  poor-house,  as  it  is  here  called. 

He  said  that  no  one  had  succeeded  in  keeping  his  rebellious 
spirit  under  proper  subjection,  though  they  had  threatened, 
punished,  and  flattered  him. 

' '  His  behavior,  the  first  two  weeks,  was  such  as  to  dis- 
courage me,  and  send  me  home  with  a  brain  that  fairly 
ached  in  trying  to  devise  some  means  to  gain  his  respect  and 
love.  I  learned  that  he  stole . every  thing  that  he  could  lay 
his  hands  upon ;  and,  indeed,  two  or  three  instances  of  his 
thieving  propensity  came  under  my  observation.  He  would 
steal  the  scholars'  dinners ;  but  for  that  I  could  not  blame  him, 
—  his  own  consisting  entirely  of  some  pieces  of  brown  bread. 


QLEN WOOD. 

"  He  was  absent  often,  and  I  would  learn  that  he  was 
confined  for  some  misdemeanor. 

"  One  morning,  by  questioning  him,  I  learned  that  he 
had  been  beaten  severely  with  a  strap.  The  poor-master 
was  accustomed  to  tie  him  up  in  a  cold  room,  in  the  coldest 
weather,  and  keep  him  without  food.  One  mode  of  punish- 
ment was  to  plunge  and  hold  him  in  cold  water. 

"  I  thought  that  I  would  try  the  power  of  moral  suasion. 
I  found  that  there  was  a  decided  improvement ;  and  that,  if 
he  did  wrong,  and  I  detained  him  after  school,  and  talked 
kindly  to  him,  instead  of  making  him  an  example  to  all  the 
scholars,  he  seemed  a  great  deal  more  penitent.  Every 
morning  he  would  come  in  with  a  handful  of  flowers  for  the 
'  mistress.'  After  school,  he  would  linger  to  ask  me  if  he 
had  been  a  good  boy.  I  also  noticed  an  improvement  in 
his  person.  He  seemed  ashamed  of  his  poor  clothes.  Oc- 
casionally there  would  come  an  outburst  of  passion,  but  it 
was  easily  quelled." 

The  above  extracts  are  sufficient  to  show  where  the  trouble 
lay.  The  whole  difficulty  was  to  be  charged  to  the  abuse 
the  child  received.  Not  only  was  he  most  cruelly  abused, 
but  fed  and  clothed  meanly.  The  teacher  tried  the  effect  of 
kindness,  and  he  Was  speedily  subdued.  As  soon  as  he 
was  treated  like  a  human  being,  he  had  a  desire  to  act  like 
one.  Let  those  who  have  the  care  of  poor  orphan  children 
•  learn  a  lesson. 

But  some  are  disposed  to  query  thus  :  "Are  there  any 
towns  in  Massachusetts,  or  in  New  England,  so  mean  as  to 
refuse  to  furnish  tea  for  aged  paupers?  "  There  are.  It  is 
true  of  one  of  the  most  respectable  towns  of  the  state  named ; 
and,  a  few  years  since,  a  complaint  was  entered  against  the 


GLENWOOD.  429 

poor-master  and  the  overseers  of  the  poor  of  that  town, 
because  of  the  filthy  condition  of  the  alms-house.  It  was 
said  that  the  actual  condition  of  things  "  was  unfit  for  publi- 
cation." 

These  facts  are  deemed  sufficient  to  silence  all  cavillers. 
It  is  certain  that  the  reputation  of  the  innocent  will  not  be 
jeopardized  by  anything  which  has  fallen  from  the  author's 
pen;  while  the  guilty,  instead  of  indulging  in  uncalled-for 
censure,  should  rather  bring  forth  works  meet  for  repent- 
ance. 

The  author  of  Glenwood  must  here  part  with  his  readers. 
He  would  fain  hope  that  they  have  been  interested  hi  his 
book,  and  that  the  perusal  has  afforded  them  many  mo- 
ments of  wholesome  excitement  and  pleasure. 


A     000  036  365     5 


